A Killer's Dream
by Rae666
Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.
1. To sleep perchance to dream

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I have been wanting to start something new for awhile because the idea of letting one story consume my mind, especially one like The Falling, is pretty scary. And whilst this isn't actually the story I was planning to write - being that I wanted to do something lighthearted and funny - I decided that I could probably put more of myself into this story at the moment. Anyway... I won't bore you with the strangeness of my mind, so here we go... something new to toy with. ^_^ Thank you for reading!

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1. To sleep perchance to dream

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Staring into the mirror in front of him, Dean took in his reflection with a cool malice, hating every inch of the face that stared back at him. From the haunted hazel orbs right down to the skin dampened with a mixture of sweat and tears. Anyone who didn't truly know him would have described it as emotionless and empty, possibly even bored, when in truth it was controlled, a wall firmly in place to hide the warring feelings that battled for dominance. Anger, hatred, guilt, confusion and even fear.

"I didn't kill anyone," he told the reflection as he stared deep into those eyes. But the words betrayed him as they tumbled from his lips, a slight quiver to his voice as hopelessness and self-loathing coloured every syllable. His throat tightened, closing up as he tried to swallow back the revulsion that was so desperately wanting out. "Jesus Christ… I didn't. I wouldn't."

But the doubt was firmly planted, the seed slowly growing as he remembered all the blood. There had been so much blood… and the screams, Jesus – he could still hear the poor girl screaming herself hoarse, the vibrations causing his ears to ring. And if, in that moment, his hands hadn't been keeping him upright as his fingers tightly gripped the sink, he would have been tempted to cover his ears instead in a vain attempt to block out that damn painful noise. Hell, if he had thought it would help he would have willingly let himself fall to a heap on the bathroom floor just to make it stop.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to force back the nausea that caused his head to swim and knees to weaken, and immediately he regretted it as the images flashed across his mind and once again, he was forced to open those hazel orbs. If he hadn't already given all he had to the waters of the toilet bowl, he was sure that he would have been back down on his hands and knees throwing up the rest of his stomach and maybe even a kidney to boot.

What the hell was happening to him? What the hell was going on? This couldn't be real… this wasn't right. He was losing his mind. Three months to go and already Hell was reaching out, trying to claim his soul before his time was even up. Already it was trying to strip him of his humanity, trying to twist him and bend him… And somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Sam had noticed. With the reddening rims and the darkened circles, it wouldn't be long now before he did…

And still, he couldn't get the image of the girl out of his head or the cold feeling that had spread throughout him, the laughter that had escaped from his lungs as one hand had slid up into the girl's hair, fingers twisting tightly into the strands, as the other hand had rested a knife upon her neck. And how she'd pleaded, sobbing and begging as she had struggled to even breath, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks to stain them before making their way down further to the tip of the blade.

_"Shhhh…"_ The soft and gentle sound had brushed passed his lips to tease the skin of hers and then the knife had eased away from her fragile neck just long enough for him to place his index finger over another frightened sob, leaning in so his cheek stroked hers as he whispered the last words she would ever hear. _"Don't worry, it won't hurt long."_

Then that was it, he couldn't stand anymore. His legs gave up, supplying him with only a moment's notice before falling out from under him, and one hand still gripped the sink as his other dropped to his side, leaving him to feel like a crumpled mess. Staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on the darkened space between him and the wall, trying to push back the memory… trying to forget her terrified face.

How was he supposed to hide this from Sam? There was no way he could. He just couldn't… as much as he wanted to - as much as he wanted Sam to believe that no, Dean didn't really deserve to go to Hell, maybe it was time that little brother learned the truth? He needed to know. This wasn't normal, this wasn't right… and Sammy needed to know where his big brother's mind wandered when the lights went out. He needed to know about the sick and twisted dreams that had been plaguing Dean for well over a week now.

At first it had just been flashes of this and that. A pretty face, a bloodied hand… the screams of frightened girl. It had meant nothing to him. It had meant less than nothing. After all, it was hardly the first time he'd dreamed of innocents dying, their blood on his hands as he failed to save them. But the latest dream, the one he had just woken from, it had brought all the bits and pieces together. And it had been so detailed… had felt _too_ Goddamn real. And the worst part wasn't that he was playing the failing hero, but that his role in the horrific nightmare had been that of the murderer.

And that just wasn't normal. He was dreaming of slaughtering innocent girls? How in the hell could that even register on the normal scale? Who the hell dreamed of stuff like that? Who in their right mind would ever…

Finally releasing his grip on the sink, his fingers brushed through his hair, knotting into the shortened strands as he tried to make some kind of sense of it all. He drew in a deep breath and forced his lungs to hold it for a moment before finally letting it out again. No, something was going on. He was many things, but he wasn't a murderer. And these dreams… they weren't him, they were something else.

Something was happening to him. Whatever the hell these dreams were, he knew they weren't normal – he'd been around supernatural stuff long enough to know when something was going on, call it a sixth sense if you would… but he knew. At least he hoped he knew… because if it wasn't supernatural, if it was all from inside his own mind then well… that was just too disturbing to think about.

But Sammy was the one with the visions, or at least he had been the one with the visions. Dean, well, he didn't have single bone in his body that could be considered psychic. He was as unpsychic as they came. Powerless, except for his smart mouth and knowledge of weapons… like Batman without the mask. He was nothing special. His gifts went no further then having a good aim and knack for finding trouble. But really, how could he even think to cry visions if there wasn't even a single body to support his argument?

His hands moved to hold the back of his neck, fingers knotting together as he took a deep breath and raised his eyes up to the ceiling in silent prayer. The tiles were cold against the skin of his legs and part of him accepted that, thinking that maybe he even deserved it, but the more logical part of him knew that he had to get up and off them before he caught something nasty.

He pushed himself up, leaning over the sink for one more moment before splashing his face with cold water and heading back into the room. His eyes landed longingly on the bed, it's sheets twisted and soaked from sweat, but he knew he couldn't sleep. As much as he wished for blissful darkness, he knew that he didn't dare because every time he closed his eyes, he could see hers staring back at him… hollow and lifeless.

He spared Sam a quick glance, envious of the peacefulness in which he slept, and instead chose to grab the remote from the nightstand, flicking on the television in hopes of finding some escape. But instead of finding escape, his stomach plummeted as he found himself staring at the image of a missing girl… the girl from his dream.

And damn if that didn't just make this whole thing that little bit more complicated all of a sudden.

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Thank you for reading!


	2. To dream a dreamer's dream

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: So Bambers and Schelz both told me I should be writing and so I did. And somehow I ended up with chapter 2 of this. So thank you to those reading and for the encouragement. It means a lot. ^_^ Now, anyone who knows and my writing knows I can be unpredictable when it comes to updating... so the fact that I've updated this quickly, well, it's not my usual speed, but hey, I'll take it. :D Thanks guys!

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2. To dream a dreamer's dream

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Lucy Shall. She was a twenty two year old student with possibly the most amazing blue eyes he had ever seen - and she was dead. Dean's stomach twisted and he forced his gaze away from the television, jaw clenching as he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, fighting the temptation to throw up once more. Sure the news reporter hadn't said that the girl was dead, only missing, but Dean knew in his guts that she was. Or at least if she wasn't, she soon would be.

And somehow, it linked back to him.

Thinking about it, part of him wanted to believe that the girl was still alive and that if he woke Sam up right at that moment, then they could both go out there and save the day, rescue the damsel in distress. But Dean was far from stupid. And he trusted his instincts. More times than he could count, his instincts had saved him. So when his instincts told him that he was too late, he was inclined to believe them.

Jaw still stiffened, he allowed himself to look back towards the television, watching the screen through narrowed angry eyes as the guy behind the desk moved onto the next story, something that was of no interest or concern to Dean. But instead of leaving it on as background noise, he hit the remote and searched in desperation for another news channel, hoping for either some sort of confirmation or a hint that maybe the girl was somehow still alive.

He wasn't that lucky. Nothing but snow, a black and white movie and a few reruns of old TV shows. Damn cheap motel and its limited choice in channels. It only served to aggravate him and push him even deeper into his despairing mood. He felt guilty and responsible. After all, it had been him in the dream who had cut her throat open, his hand… Hell, it had even looked like his knife.

And for a moment too long, he allowed himself to entertain the thought that somehow… maybe it had actually been him who harmed the girl. With being so close to Hell, so close to being dragged away to the pit for all eternity, maybe something in his unconscious had snapped… maybe Hell had taken hold and taken him for a ride. And if not Hell, well he knew of plenty of evil sons of bitches that were quite capable of doing so… tattoo or not.

"No." One word, pure denial and total hostility. It couldn't have been him. There would have been something somewhere in the room or on his person that gave him away – there would have been blood. He didn't kill that girl. He just dreamed it, for some reason.

But all the same, his body twisted and his eyes landed on the pillow at the end of bed and he found his throat working as he crawled up the sheets in order to tuck his hand underneath the murky yellow that he had once rested his head on. And his fingers searched in desperation, wanting to wrap around the handle of the blade and at the same, almost afraid to in case it was covered in sickly red.

His heart thumping heavily, almost painfully in his chest, his skin touched nothing but cloth and he panicked. No, it had to be there. He always put it there. Moving quickly now, he grabbed the top pillow with his other hand and threw it behind him before grabbing the next and repeating the action. He could have choked there and then, heart and lungs leaping into his throat as his head span, stars dancing at the edges of his vision as everything suddenly felt surreal.

Gone. It was gone.

It couldn't be gone. It was there somewhere. It had just fallen into the crack between the mattress and the headboard or something… or maybe he'd accidentally thrown it behind along with the pillows. Then again, he couldn't be one hundred percent sure that he had put it there in the first place. Sure, it was almost an automatic movement of his every time they rented a new room but things had been so chaotic lately… he could have easily just forgotten, could have left it in his bag.

Desperately, his eyes searched the darkened floor behind him and he jumped from the bed to drop to his hands and knees, fingertips gliding over roughened carpet as he searched every inch of it for the knife. Nothing. Just absolutely nothingness. He drew in a deep short breath and scruffed up his hair, trying to think, trying to focus, but his eyes just flew around wildly, not wanting to stop until he'd found it… not able to stop.

The contents of his weapon bag were on the floor in no time as he'd snatched it up and emptied it out. Gun, gun, clip, half-full box of shotgun shells, gun… no knife. This couldn't be happening… He just had to calm down, just had to focus and relax. It would be staring him right in the face. Just like the time Sam had claimed he lost his lucky card when they were younger and it had been right in front of him.

Yeah, it was just like then. And just like how Sam had found the card, Dean would find the knife. It would be squeezed between the headboard and mattress, just like he'd thought… He could see it now, sitting there, just waiting to be found. And he pushed himself up, practically diving towards the bed so he could force his hand down the gap in search of his treasure.

But just like with the pillows, there was nothing there. And just like with the pillows, he acted a bit more hastily, throwing himself off the bed in order to lift the mattress, too consumed in his search to notice that in doing so, he'd accidentally knocked the lamp on the bedside cabinet to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Dean?" It was a sleepy question and it caused Dean to freeze, hands tight around the edges of the mattress as the upper end was nearly level with his eyes. But then his brother woke up that little bit more and his name was repeated, only this time it was a shocked question with possibly even a hint of anger and definitely a full on dose of worry.

"Sam…" The name left his lips awkwardly and his hands let go of the mattress, letting it drop back down haphazardly as he span to face his little brother, head spinning all too fast as he did so. His eyes were wide and he was sure he was wearing that deer caught in the headlights expression, walls completely absent, game-face nowhere to be seen. Sliding himself slowly to the floor, he rested his back against the wooden frame of the bed, heart still hammering in his chest as he looked up pleadingly at Sam.

What the hell was happening to him? What was going on? He was shaking so badly that he could feel it in every part of him. Fear seeping in as he silently begged for someone, anyone, to just tell him where his Goddamn knife was.

"What's going on Dean?" Sam had pushed himself up a little bit further now and Dean could see he was already making the movements to climb out from under the sheets to join his brother, the broken heap of a mess, on the floor between the beds.

And Dean felt his eyes drop, gaze averted as he couldn't watch anymore… couldn't even stand to think anymore, and he shook his head lightly, trying not to swallow the words as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "I killed her…"

And right there, right then… he truly believed that he did. He felt so lost and confused and his knife was nowhere to be found… it had been his only hope. And he had no idea how he was supposed to explain that to Sam, along with the upturned bed and mess of weapons on the floor… especially when Sam kept looking at him with those gentle eyes, as if he thought Dean would shatter into a thousand pieces any second.

"Oh God Sammy… I killed her."

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	3. A whisper of a liea shadow of the truth

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: So you guys are awesome for the encouragement and for reading. So here's a nice quick update. I know, I'm going for the whole short chapter stuff but hopefully you'll enjoy ^_^ Thank you guys so much!!

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3. A whisper of a lie, a shadow of the truth

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The words kept circling his mind, mixing with flashes of images. He'd killed her. His knife had slit her throat, cutting into like it was nothing more than butter. And whilst he tried to tell himself that he had been sleeping, and even then there were no traces of blood on him anywhere, that niggling doubt kept slicing into him so deeply that he nearly flinched every time the words started a new lap.

He didn't look as Sam dropped to his knees beside him, only stiffened slightly as his brother's hand reached out to drop onto his shoulder – a sign of comfort, a silent 'I'm here' or even a 'you're safe', though Dean didn't feel very safe at that moment in time. He felt far from it. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam working his mouth, almost as if the words refused to come and then when they finally did come, they weren't quite the ones he had expected.

"I think you had a nightmare Dean." Sam's brow was burrowed as he spoke, eyes tinged with worry and Dean rolled his eyes, the movement continuing down through his neck and shoulders as he shirked Sam's touch and dragged himself back to his feet using the bed for support.

_Had_ a nightmare? He was still in a Goddamn nightmare. This whole thing was one long nightmare, this whole life… Shuffling past Sam, he made his way over to the table and placed his hands upon the backrest of the chair that sat with it, staring determinedly down at the wooden surface and refusing to glance back at his brother. "You don't understand Sam."

"Then explain it to me Dean. What do you mean? What the hell happened here?" He could hear the challenge in Sam's voice, but also the slight waver. His eyes were bound to be locked on the back of Dean's head, burning a hole right through it in an attempt to try and see _inside_ it. "What were you looking for?"

And that last question caused Dean to close his eyes as he braced himself, feeling the twinge in his guts as he thought for a moment about telling a lie. But the moment was gone, and he let the words slip past his lips, voice hoarse and broken. "My knife."

There was a tilt to Sam's head, he could tell, probably a raised eyebrow to match. It was the look that Sammy always had a habit of wearing when he was trying to figure Dean out. Only Dean didn't know how much figuring out this really took – finding the knife had been his only hope at finding some ray of light, something that would tell him that he was innocent… "Why?"

"Because Sam!" His voice was hardened, a sharp edge to it as his fingers dug into the chair, grip so tight that it was beginning to hurt. He wasn't angry at Sam. He was angry with himself, angry with the circumstance and with the that tiny voice in the back of his head that plagued him, telling him over and over again that it was his fault… he'd killed her… and even if he hadn't physically been there, then he hadn't been much help either.

"That's not a good enough answer." Sam's retort was just as sharp, defences flying up and Dean felt himself sigh wearily. He hadn't meant to shout at Sam like that, hadn't meant to push his emotions onto his brother… "I wake up and find you doing God knows what to the room and the first thing you tell me is that 'you killed her' but you won't explain it to me? What the hell Dean?"

He drew in a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts and arrange them into some sort of order but they quickly scattered again before he could succeed. Why had Sam had to wake up then? Couldn't he have waited until Dean had at least found the knife or even just until he'd had time to think things through? "You wouldn't believe me Sam…"

That made Sam scoff and Dean could already hear his brother's words ringing in his mind before they even left his mouth. "Dean, for our entire lives we've hunted ghosts and demons… we've faced off things that others couldn't even imagine in their wildest of dreams. And you think I won't believe you? I'm your brother man… just - please."

And how could he ever refuse that begging tone? Ever since they had been kids, Sam could get him to do nearly anything by just using the right tone of voice and the right amount of puppy dog eyes. He was glad that he wasn't looking at his brother right then, wasn't staring right into those big soulful eyes as they pleaded with Dean to confide or else he would have spilled it all so quickly that he'd forget how to even breathe.

"Fine, then _I don't believe me_. It's too much. Too friggin' crazy…" He brought one hand up to his eyes, the heel of it digging into his right socket as he tried to force away the lingering sleep and block out that damn screaming in his mind… If he could just somehow get passed the images and the noises, then maybe he could stop feeling so guilty, maybe he would stop wishing for that big black hole to open up beneath his feet and swallow him… Letting the hand drop once again, he shook his head gently and turned his head to the side so he could watch Sam from the corner of his eye. "Few days ago, some chick went missing in town… it's all over the news…"

"People go missing all the time." There was a 'trying to be reasonable' note in Sam's voice and his eyes were narrowed. Dean could tell that he was trying to figure out just how a missing chick was even relevant to the topic of discussion - either that or he was just deliberately being difficult.

"But I don't dream about them…" And there it was - the first part of the confession out in the open. No turning back now. The truth was out and Sam was sure to want to know more. But he wasn't going to give Sam a chance to question him, instead he carried on, his throat closing in as he choked the words out… breathing becoming harder as he felt his head going light once again. "I don't dream about _killing_ them…"

For a moment, Sam was silent but then when he spoke, his words were just as forced as Dean's and Dean could see it from his features that he was trying to understand what Dean was telling him, trying to understand what it all meant. "And the knife?"

"It's missing." _Thank you Captain Obvious_, he berated himself and held off a beat before continuing, turning back to face his brother fully as he did so – left hand never leaving the chair, only sliding along it so he could keep his support. "In my dream – I…" Okay, so this was definitely harder than he thought. Telling Sam that he had killed someone had been bad enough… but it had been more out of desperation, like he'd needed to voice the thought before he could truly even start to rationalise it… But he saw Sam's brow furrowing once again, head tilting forwards as he silently egged Dean on – asking him to continue. "I cut her open with my knife… I didn't even hesitate. I didn't even…"

His voice trailed off and he hadn't even realised he was falling or that his vision had wavered until he found himself staring directly into Sam's hazel eyes, the darkness fleeing from corners of his sight. His hand still gripped the chair, but it was now lying on the floor next to him and he was vaguely aware of the stinging sensation in his knees from where they must have hit the ground. But Sam was there, his hands gripping Dean's arms tightly and stopping him from falling any further.

"Dean? C'mon man, don't do this to me." Anxiety and fear laced through each and every syllable and Dean felt pain stabbing at his chest as he saw just how tense Sammy was – tears sparkling at the very edges of his eyes, threatening to spill.

"I'm fine." It felt like a lie almost as soon as it was free of his throat and out through his mouth. Sure, he was fine. He was dreaming of killing girls, currently had a missing murder weapon of a knife and now… now he was collapsing because of it all… Yeah, Dean was just super.

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Thank you guys for reading!


	4. Sometimes it's easier to disbelieve

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Thank you all again for your awesome encouragement and for reading! I'm keeping the chapters short as you can see, but I'm hoping you won't hold it agianst me. Anyway - thank you all!

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4. Sometimes it's easier to disbelieve

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Tense and reluctant, Dean groaned in frustration when his legs refused to support him and he was forced to let Sam lead him towards the beds. But the youngest didn't sit him on the upturned mess that was Dean's, instead he gave Dean his bed whilst he stood – almost hesitant to let go of Dean, probably for fear he would try and take another nose dive, 'cause God only knows that was always fun.

He seemed to wait a moment, hovering, hands twitching at his side and part of Dean wanted to tease his brother by making a sudden lurch forward. But the better half of him knew that one, doing so would be incredibly cruel even if it incredibly funny, and two, he would probably fall all the way in the state he was in and smack his forehead off the ground as his brother failed to catch him. And well, he really didn't want to add 'pain in the ass concussion' to the never ending list of things that were bringing him down - so yeah, no mock lurching.

"How you feeling?" Sam questioned, voice strained. It wasn't that he was being ignorant of the fact that obviously Dean was feeling like complete and utter crap, it was more his way of trying to gauge how coherent his brother was going to be. And Dean couldn't blame him for that, so far he'd been acting as coherent as an eight year old trying to give a speech about global warming to an auditorium filled with people when they weren't even sure just what the hell it was in the first place, let alone why it affected them. So in reply, Dean just shrugged half-heartedly and swallowed the 'how do you think I feel?' so that it only existed in his mind.

Confused. Freaking confused as hell. That's how he felt. He felt like a freaking mental case who would be better suited in a straight jacket rather than a leather one. And he didn't know how he was supposed to explain that to Sam.

"You wanna talk about it?" His brother brought himself to his knees now, in an attempt to make eye contact with Dean and at first, Dean didn't want him to – afraid that he would see something inside that Dean didn't want him to… afraid that he would see a killer. But he pushed back the fear and locked eyes with Sam, praying for him to believe him, pleading silently for his little brother to just have a little faith.

"Something happened to that girl Sam. I saw it." _I dreamt it… I dreamt it like you dreamt of Jessica and all those others. It was real… and I really need you to believe me._ Though his thoughts went unheard, he was sure that the desperation behind them would show through on his features, from the pleading in his eyes to the tightening of his jaw.

"Yeah Dean, I got that. But then you also just told me that you killed her."

So Sam had him on that one. He had just told him he was the murderer, but to be honest, until they figured this thing out, he definitely wasn't ruling it out. Screw innocent until proven guilty… that was too dangerous. "There's no evidence that I didn't."

"There's no evidence that you _did_!" And that made Dean roll his eyes. Why was Sam so determined to believe that Dean wasn't a killer when every single thing pointed towards him being one? Why was he so blind?

"So the missing knife means nothing to you?" It came out more of a challenge then he had meant it to, but Sam accepted it all the same, refusing to back down.

"No actually, it doesn't. I could care less about your freaking missing knife. You probably just left it in the Impala or God forbid, maybe you lost it somewhere along the road – _maybe_ you left it back in Stillwater. So one missing knife? No, it doesn't make you a killer."

"Bitch," he mumbled under his breath, but his heart wasn't truly in it, his mind still on the girl and what all of it meant. But maybe Sam had a point. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he clung to that point for just a little while – no need to hand out the death sentences just yet, right? If Sam could believe that, then Dean could probably fool himself into believing it too – even if only for tonight.

And Sam seemed to cling to the shining ray of hope that lingered in the air too, using it to try and get Dean to stay on that side of the line and away from the 'I killer her' speech. If it meant he didn't have to repeat himself, he'd take it. "Whatever, Jerk." He rolled his eyes as he spoke and Dean could tell it was a reluctant response but also a desperate one, his brother's twitch of the mouth showing just how eager he was to get back to some relative normality. Whatever normal was for them.

"Believe me Sam, I know how this sounds. Hell, I've been there before remember? But I trusted you and your whacked out visions, even if I didn't want to… I still did. So please, I just need _you to trust me_ on this."

"It's not that I don't trust you Dean. It's just…" Dean could see the cogs working in Sam's brain as he drew in a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word what he was thinking. He didn't have to though, Dean already knew what he was thinking – could already see the implication of it in those hazel eyes. "Why would you suddenly develop visions? I'm the freak remember."

"Dude, we grew up hunting evil – I think we've _both_ earned the label of freak by now, don't you?" Leaning forward, he held his head in his hands as he spoke, allowing his eyes to close for a brief moment – the darkness feeling like a welcomed sight for once. "I don't know why it's happening man, but it is. Maybe it's the deal… maybe there's some sort of clause in there – I don't know. Just, please Sam…"

And there was that weary sigh that meant Sam had given up, finally relenting as he muttered a very low and aggravated 'fine' under his breath and Dean snapped his head up in time to see his brother pushing himself up to pace the floor just in front of Dean, mindful of the weapons still sitting on the carpet. "So what do you want me to do?"

"You're the research boy – so research." He tried for a smile but didn't quite make it, his chest still aching and body tingling as he watched Sam pause in his pacing.

Instead of replying though, the youngest moved towards the window and peeled back the curtain an inch or so – just in time for Dean to catch a glimpse of what had attracted his brother's attention as red and blue lights went flying by, the drone of sirens following them before disappearing once again.

"I have a better idea," he murmured under his breath before turning to face Dean, letting the curtain fall back into place to once again shield them from the outside world. "Get your suit on."

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^_^ Thanks for reading!


	5. Sometimes it's easier not to see

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Majorly quick update this time, but I couldn't get the scene out of my head and so I had to write. Things start looking really bad for Dean now... :D Thank you all so much for the encouragement so far and for reading!!

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5. Sometimes it's easier not to see

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4 AM. Too early or too late, depending on how you wanted to look at it. The sky was still a darkened midnight blue, the crayon companies having named the colour aptly, with smudges of thick cloud covering. Rain lightly bounced off the surface of the Impala as it sped towards the distant blue lights parked up in the middle of a row of empty shops and houses, sirens deadened now to keep from waking the nosy neighbours – but that didn't stop the curtains from twitching though, or the prying eyes that combed the shadows in search of the latest gossip.

"This is stupid Sam," Dean uttered for the umpteenth time since pulling on his 'monkey suit' and the long black jacket to match and climbing into the Impala half an hour earlier. "What if it's not her? What if it's something else altogether?"

"According to the police scanner, there's a dead girl in that alley up there. If it's not her, fine – then we'll go back to the motel and hit the hay. But if it is, then I'm gonna prove to you that you didn't kill her and then we can get to work on figuring out exactly who, or what, did." Sam still held the police scanner in his hand, the volume turned down low so they could talk amongst themselves, but still audible enough in case any new information was mentioned.

Parking up just a few feet away from the yellow tape, the brothers climbed out, setting off towards the ambulance and the body bag that was currently being loaded up into it. So far the cops hadn't identified the body of the girl but they had mentioned the missing chick a few times, the name Lucy Shall seeming to be on everyone's lips. And if he was honest, Dean was petrified at the thought of it being her.

"'Scuse me!" Sam called out, reaching into his pocket for the fake FBI badge as he did so and Dean followed suit, taking his out ready. "Mind if we see the body?"

"And who exactly are _we_?" The growl came from behind them and they turned to face a small plump man, his face stern and hands dug deep into his pockets. It took no brain surgeon to work out that he was the guy in charge and he was the one they had to speak to.

"Agents Grant and Rankin, we're with the FBI." Dean flashed his badge and saw Sam copy from the corner of his eye before placing it back into his inside pocket. He twiddled with his for a moment longer, almost daring the guy to ask for another look as the officer eyed them both suspiciously. But he didn't, he just scowled and moved forward with his questioning.

"And what exactly is the FBI doing in a place like this at his God awful hour?"

"We're in town investigating a lead on a case – heard the radio and thought this might be linked to the guy we've been hunting." The lie flowed from Sam's lips flawlessly and it never ceased to amaze Dean just how easily his brother had slipped back into the role of hunter, especially for the guy who had once dreamed of an apple pie life in suburbs.

"Great, just what I need. Two big shots who want to take over the scene and push us local cops out." There was definitely a bitter note there which told of how this guy had probably had previous run ins with the big guns from the FBI or CIA. "Look guys, no offence but why don't you go hole yourself up in some nice dry motel like you types normally do and let us get on with our work. Drop by the station tomorrow morning and I'll be happy to fill you in."

Dean snorted and shook his head. The guy sounded like he'd be a lot happier wrestling a bear, a gator _and_ the abominable snowman than filling in the FBI. "No offence taken." He winked and laid on a smile. "We just wanna take a look around 'fore anyone messes up the scene too bad then we'll be out of your hair. Trust me, we would _much_ rather be 'holed up' somewhere warm and dry but then _we_ wouldn't be doing _our_ job, would we?"

The guy seemed to contemplate that for a moment, chewing on the insides of his cheek as he cast a glance around the scene and towards the cop currently stood next to the body bag stretcher awaiting instructions. For a second Dean thought he was going to keep on insisting that they just scram but instead, he let go of an irritated growl which must have been building up inside his chest for sometime, and locked eyes with each of the brothers in turn. "Fifteen minutes. And no disturbing the scene. You find something, you let me know. Deal?"

"If it means we can get back to our beds quicker, I'll take it."

"Frank!" he shouted at the other officer and Dean turned to see the body bag protector perk up, standing straight now instead of leaning against the open door of the ambulance. "Show these boys the girl then get her off to the morgue and contact the family."

"Woah, contact the family? You know who she is?" Dean's brow furrowed as he swung to look at the commanding officer once more, awaiting for an answer.

"We have an idea. She's sliced up pretty bad though so we're gonna have to get her parent's to ID her to make sure."

"It's the missing girl, isn't it?" Sam questioned, following along Dean's line of thought.

The guy nodded in reply, taking a hand out of his pocket to sweep through his hair briefly before shoving it back in, posture more relaxed though now – more tired and drained. "The parents are going to be devastated. Terrible business."

And with that, he turned away, taking his leave and allowing the brothers to move towards the bag. With this new snippet of information, Dean really, _really _didn't want to see. His whole body felt like jelly and he could see that even Sam had gone a shade paler. This was crazy. They already knew it was going to be her. They already figured that much out. So why did they have to confirm it? Why did they have to actually see her? Sliced up and bloody… blue eyes paled and deadened, hair soaked with dirt and blood, clothes ripped and damp from the rain.

He'd already seen her dead once. He didn't need to see it again. Yet, on the same note – he knew he did. It was only fear that told him he didn't. The smart side of him, the side that sounded an awful lot like Sam, that side told him that he would never be able to sleep properly again if he didn't look and just confirm, or even disprove, the truth of his dreams.

Standing over the bag, he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to see. He even tried stiffening his legs for fear he would end up down on his knees again like back in the motel room. His head was already swimming, light and nauseous. But all he had to do was look and then turn away, that's all he had to do.

He drew in a deep breath as the guy zipped down the bag, paying no attention to the worried side glances that he received from Sam, more focused on just getting this over with. But no matter how much he prepared himself, it just wasn't enough. As soon as the guy pulled apart the sides of the bag to reveal the girl, Dean took one glimpse, eyes roaming over each and every slash and bruise that littered her broken dead body, and then he was off – pushing himself towards the trash cans just outside one of the homes, barely making it before he was throwing up once again.

After his earlier bout, he was surprised he had anything left to throw up. But somehow, his stomach managed to find a few bits and pieces that it wanted rid of. He heard Sam behind him making some lame excuse about a rushed bite to eat and dead bodies never mixing very well and then he was making his way towards Dean. He could already feel his little brother's eyes piercing the back of his head, already knew the question that would be perched on the tip of his tongue.

_Yes Sam,_ he thought to himself as he finally stopped heaving, _that was her… _But that wasn't the worst of it. Nope. As he pulled himself up and leaned against the wall, arm rested flat on the surface and forehead dropped against the rain damp cloth of his jacket, he looked down, eyes tracing the ground before landing on the glint of silver from between the cans.

And he knew before he even bent down to pick it up what it was. The dark handle and once shining edge covered thick with Lucy Shall's blood. His knife… the murder weapon. Feeling himself falling into the shadow of Sam, he swallowed the thick lump in his throat and held up the weapon just high enough for his brother to see but at the same time making sure the cops wouldn't get a look at it.

"Still think I didn't kill her Sam?"

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Thanking you for reading!!!


	6. The truth is sometimes hidden by the lie

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: You guys are beyond awesome for reading so thanks! It means a lot to me. And here we go with update time.

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6. The truth is sometimes hidden by the lie

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Without warning, Sam grabbed the knife out of Dean's hand and stuffed it into his jacket, making sure to keep it concealed. He glanced quickly around and Dean guessed he was checking to see if anyone had noticed their little discovery. But they hadn't. They were all too busy concentrating on the actual alleyway or on the civilians congregating at the edges of the yellow tape, rain coats wrapped tightly over multicoloured pyjamas – one woman still had a pair of slippers on, the fluffy edges soaked and muddy.

"Come on," Sam growled at him, one hand latching onto the material of his jacket as he pulled him up. "We're leaving."

He wasn't angry. Well, yeah, he was. But it wasn't directed at Dean. He could tell by the way his brother's eyes softened momentarily as they locked with his. But it didn't last long before he was pushed forward and forced to make his way towards the car. He kept his head down, unable to look anyone in the eye. He wasn't feeling up to lying to anyone's face. Hell, if it had been up to him he would have willingly allowed the cops to lock him up and throw away the key. But Sam was too smart for that, too stubborn to believe in the facts that were staring him right in the face.

They stayed silent until they were passed the line and out of earshot. By that time, Dean felt his legs shaking so badly that he was surprised he could still stand let alone walk. He willingly passed the keys over when Sam held his hand out and demanded them, face set and eyes distant as his brain was obviously ticking over everything and trying to find a logical excuse.

"When's the last time you saw the knife Dean?" He paused before unlocking the car door and leaned against the roof, looking directly at Dean as he waited for the answer. Dean simply shrugged in reply, half tempted to go for the cocky remark of 'in my dream when I slid it into her gut and twisted it nice and deep' but he figured that probably wouldn't help matters much. "Think Dean. I need a definite answer here. I know you didn't kill that girl so we need to figure out just who the hell is trying to set you up here."

"You _know_? Jesus Christ Sam. My knife was not only at the scene of the Goddamn crime but covered in her blood and you still think I didn't do it?" He was glad that at least one of them had faith in him, no matter how stupid and blind that faith was but at the same time, if he killed that girl… if he was responsible… he had to accept that and he had to accept the consequences that came with that.

"Yes Dean. I _know_. Because I know you and I know you don't go around killing innocent girls no matter how screwed up our lives are. You wouldn't do that." Determined was one way to describe his brother in that moment and it was definitely the word that Dean was in favour of. If Sam wanted to believe he was innocent then fine, he'd let him believe that so long as he would be willing to do what was needed if push came to shove.

"Then please, enlighten me. You obviously know something that I don't 'cause I'm not seeing any other way around this Sammy."

"You're not trying to see any other way around this! You're just so damn convinced that you actually deserve to go to Hell and this is just another reason for you to feel that way. So why would you believe me when I say that you're a good guy…?" Eyes dropping, Sam's head followed and he rested it against his arm on the roof, breathing deeply. He looked so frustrated and angry and lost all at once… it tore into Dean, caused his guts to tighten and chest to ache.

"Okay…" he relented, voice almost silent as he nodded his head and swallowed thickly. Sam looked up at that, hazel orbs disbelieving as if he thought he had misheard. "We'll do this your way then. We'll dig around and see what turns up."

"And you won't try to do anything stupid?" Sam tilted his head a little, pushing Dean – daring him to disagree.

"Me? Do something stupid?" He plastered a grin onto his face, his eyes twinkling mischievously only ever so slightly. It was far from his usual cocky mask that he wore so often, but it would have to do for now. At least until they figured something out anyway. "When have I _ever _done something that could be considered stupid?"

But instead of rising to the bait, Sam just cocked an eyebrow and climbed into the car. Dean followed, flinching as he saw Sam withdraw the knife and tensing up when the youngest went on to rummage through the glove compartment in order to find something to wrap it in. He was thankful that he didn't have to hold it, his brother dropping it on the floor in the back to keep it out of both their views because as much as Sam believed Dean wasn't the killer, Dean could still see that tinge of apprehension in his eyes.

"Sam…" His tone was gentle and voice small as he looked down into his hands. His heart dropped, leaving his chest feeling cold and for the first time that night, he let himself completely forget about the self-loathing, focusing on the dread and fear that lay beneath it. "What happens if I did kill her?"

Sam was silent in return, his head lowering a fraction and Dean caught him stealing a quick glance before starting the engine and slipping the car into reverse to make a quick exit. "It won't come to that," he finally replied, the Impala now on her way to the motel, wipers swiping angrily at the rain as it grew heavier. "I promise."

Nodding slowly, he slid down in his seat, eyes searching the streets for something that would distract his thoughts long enough for him to calm his heart. Things weren't completely hopeless, even if they felt that way at that moment in time, they would be clearer in the morning… Hell, maybe he'd wake up and find the whole thing had been one _long _nightmare.

His eyelids drifted closed for a moment, the gentle lull of the car trying to coax him into sleep and he let the side of his head fall against the cool glass. Sam didn't say anything, probably figured he needed the rest, which, after the past week he'd had, he really did. Opening his lids only a small portion, he went back to watching the street, not too willing to slip off just yet.

But willing or not, his body was fighting him all the way as his mind crept closer and closer to slumberland – whispers of dreams teasing at his ears and shadows of nightmares chasing away the light of the streetlamps, leaving only enough of a glow to illuminate the lone figure standing on the sidewalk, watching as the brothers passed him by. But after a blink, he was gone and Dean slipped all the way into the darkness of sleep.

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Thanks for reading!!


	7. Ever watchful, ever waiting

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I'm really loving writing this story so I'm hoping people are still enjoying reading. Thanks for reading!!

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7. Ever watchful, ever waiting

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He was vaguely aware of the Impala stopping and of his brother half carrying, half dragging him back into the room. He tried to help as best he could but sleep muddled his mind and he couldn't tell whether he was coming or going. The distant murmurs kept grabbing at his attention, the darkness slinking in and wrapping around him like a blanket of cold. He heard his name being called but couldn't decide whether it was from Sam or the other presence in his dream world that he could _feel_ rather than see.

"I'm coming," he grumbled softly as he tried to sit up but a strong hand pushed him back down, strong but so gentle. And that was the last he remembered before he found himself staring at _her_.

She was beautiful and entrancing. Her dark hair down, the waves upon waves of it stroking at her naked back and tickling the skin in just the right spot so that as he drew closer, his breath nearly upon her neck, she didn't even know he was there. She laughed with the group she was with, her right hand playing with her halter neck before moving up to tuck a few strands behind her ear.

She was enjoying the attention and the leering looks that she got from the men in the bar, that much was obvious by the way she kept herself open – no attempt to hide or conceal the cleavage that was ripe and on show. Even with his stealth and silence, she'd probably have seen him coming since she emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes ago. She was like that, a predator in her own way – putting herself out there to attract the opposite sex and then freely choosing who to dismiss and burn and who to keep at hand just in case no better offers came along. But she would be unable to refuse him.

Laying a hand on her shoulder, he felt her stiffen in response and he leant in to whisper in her ear. It was a mere suggestion for the pair of them to go somewhere a bit more private and she tried to play it cool, her eyebrow raised as she looked at him, but he could practically see her heart quickening as her pupils dilated with want. She stalled for a moment, all part of her act, before breaking away from the group and following him towards a darkened space at the back.

And still, she stared at him, watching him with eagerness and excitement as if he were her prey when in fact it, she was his.

That was when he suddenly lurched forward, head spinning and body aching and sticky with sweat as his mind tried to catch up. His eyes, unfocused at first, eventually landed on the silhouette that sat hunched over the table in the corner, blocking the only source of light in the room. And it was then that he could breathe a little easier, realising that there was no dark haired woman and no bar filled with drunks and noise and alcohol. There was just him and Sam, alone in the motel room.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, moving away from the screen of his laptop just enough so that it illuminated his worried features and the fact that he was still dressed up in his suit.

"How long have I been out?" He swallowed down the lump in his throat and brushed a shaky hand across his face and up into his hair. Pushing his legs over the side of the bed, he watched as Sam chewed at his lip absently as he turned back to the computer screen to check the time.

"'Bout two hours." He yawned as he spoke, covering his mouth with his hands before going on to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He looked exhausted and Dean couldn't help but wonder if the kid had even attempted to go back to sleep or if he'd just jumped straight onto the laptop in search of answers. "I thought you'd have been out for longer actually… was gonna head out to get some coffee for when you woke."

Dean nodded at that, his eyes dropping as he tried to grip onto the vague memory of the dream that was quickly leaving, as desperate to escape as he was desperate to hold onto it. His stomach twisted and clenched but even when he closed his eyes, all he could really recall was a glimmer of a face and long dark hair.

"But you've been here the whole time?" When it came out, it sounded more like an accusation than a simple question but Sam didn't even flinch, only nodded his head in reply and stood up to move closer to the bed. "Awake and here the whole time? And I didn't even move?"

Suspicion crept into the contours of Sam's face, eyes narrowing as he stiffened and tensed, falling still a foot away from Dean. "What's going on Dean?" His voice was slow and steady, the words spoken in a tone that gave Dean the impression that if he didn't supply a straight answer, he'd find himself strung up somewhere in an extremely painful position.

"I had another dream," he said after a breath, eyes flicking up to meet Sam's for a mere second before falling back to the ground, not daring to linger. "Another girl… I think she's next."

"But you didn't even move…" A hint of disbelief and something Dean couldn't quite identify lay beneath Sam's words, the youngest's head tilting to the side.

"Yeah, thank you Mr. Observant," Dean snapped at him, jaw tightening along with his fist as he tried to understand what that meant, "I kinda figured as much."

But Sam carried on, dropping to his haunches in front of Dean and forcing their eyes to lock as a slow grin spread across his face and it was then that Dean figured out what that other thing in his words had been. Excitement, relief… "Don't you get it Dean, you didn't move. You didn't leave this room. So how the hell could you possibly kill that girl?"

Without letting himself feel the hope that Sam so obviously felt, he kept his gaze steady and tried to calm his voice. "I didn't say I killed this one… I just said I saw her. I think the killing comes later."

Sam dropped his head at that, shaking it slightly. "Whatever's going on here, it's not you. Someone's setting you up to make you believe that you're doing it… and _this_ is proof." His voice quickened as he spoke, excitement sparking again as he returned his gaze to meet Dean's, determination shining through, hardened now more than ever. "We're going to find whoever is doing this and we're going to stop them."

"But it doesn't make sense Sam. Why? Why me?"

"You're Dean Winchester… what demon could resist getting a dig in before-" But the smile on his face died along with the words that had appeared to have lodged deep into his throat. He didn't need to say it though. It wasn't like either of then needed a reminder of just how much time Dean had left before he joined the worst of the worst in Hell.

"So they're killing random chicks to get to me? I don't know Sam." He stood, wavering for a moment as a dizzy spell came and went, and pushed forward away from the bed to stare idly at the room in front of him. "And they're using dreams? How's that even possible?"

Sam followed him in standing and wandered over to his laptop. Pressing a couple of buttons, he shifted to the side so that Dean could see what was on screen. "I've been doing some research on linking minds. Rituals, curses, you name it… there's a way. We just have to figure out _which one_ is being used here."

"And what about the girl? We just let her die while going on some wild goose chase that may or may not even work?"

Sam stalled at that one, his eyes showing pause as they dropped for a moment. "I hate to say it Dean, but if the real killer already has their hands on her – she's probably already dead."

"No Sam." He shook his head. He'd play things Sam's way. He'd even believe what his brother was saying about the whole linking of minds. But he wasn't going to let some poor girl die because some son of a bitch had it in for Dean… no way. "She's not dead yet. If what you're saying is right, then the killer would want me to watch her die… So if there's even the smallest chance that we can save her – we're doing it."

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Thanks again for reading! Love you guys!


	8. Drifting slowly

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

Warnings: Forgot to mention at the beginning that there'll be sme spoilers for season 4 in this even though it's set in season 3, just one or two things.

A/N: Meant to have this up sooner, lol, but it's up now. Thanks so much for reading! It means a lot to me!

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8. Drifting slowly

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A quick shower each and a change of clothes later, and the brothers were inside some side street diner pretending to drink coffee and eat breakfast. Dean prodded at the sausage on his plate idly, watching as it rolled back and forth between the bacon and the egg. Normally, he would have devoured it and gotten seconds but asides from the total lack of appetite, he didn't want to give his stomach more ammunition to use against him. Sam on the other hand was too busy staring at his laptop screen, left elbow on the table as he chewed at the knuckle of his index finger absent-mindedly instead of the chicken and lettuce sub that sat beside him.

Letting out a huff, Dean put the fork down and sat back, letting his head fall against the cushioned booth and rest there as his eyes watched Sam at work. He understood that the kid wanted to find something to break the curse or whatever was being used on him, hell if it were the other way around, he'd be doing the exact same thing – searching relentlessly until something definite came up. But at the same time, Dean just wanted to focus on the girl.

If they could get to the girl on time, if they could save her – then maybe he would stop feeling so damn guilty about the first one. With this new dream and Sam's theories flying about all over the place, he had just about convinced himself that he wasn't the killer. There was a lingering doubt but it had faded into the blackness to be replaced by worry for the new girl, the one that he still had a chance to save.

"So I was thinking we swing by the police station and find out about all the missing girls in town. We might get lucky." He continued to gaze at Sam as he spoke, noting the distracted look in his eyes as he nodded. The kid was so not paying attention to him.

"Sure Dean," he said when he brought his finger away from his mouth to rest on his chin instead.

"We could dress up as mad hippies and sing Kumbaya at them until they lock us up or just kick us out, then again they might just kill us on the spot." He leaned forward as he spoke, hazel orbs never leaving Sam as he watch intently for a reaction but his brother continued to just stare at the screen, deep in thought. Resting his elbows against the table, he scratched at his temple with his thumb idly, still waiting before spreading his hands out in prompt for Sam to speak.

Sparing him a glance, Sam smiled briefly and nodded before turning back to the screen, the mad hippies not fazing him in the slightest as everything Dean said refused to get through the huge wall of blocking the way. "Ya-ha… sounds good."

"Dude, you're not even listening to me." He sighed and let his palms fall flat against the table as he pushed himself back a little and shook his head.

"De-an," Sam pleaded, finally turning away from the screen and lowering it so the laptop was nearly closed. His puppy dog eyes were out in full force but Dean just shrugged them off, raising his eyebrows at Sam's tone. He saw Sam opening his mouth to argue but before the words came out, it fell shut again as he smiled tightly and took a deep breath, eyes closing briefly. "I'm listening now…"

"Cop shop. Swing by… maybe get lucky," he summed up, frustration showing through but this time he knew Sam had heard him.

Sam paused, contemplating for a moment before closing is laptop fully and sliding from the booth, eyes falling expectantly on Dean. "Let's go then."

"What? Right now? You haven't even touched your food."

At that, he received his own raised eyebrow look as Sam eyed the greasy breakfast sitting uneaten on his own plate. "Neither have you."

Whilst the acknowledgement of his lack of appetite was short, he could still feel the worry rolling off of Sam in waves but he was thankful that his brother didn't push it. He felt his cheeks redden slightly, like a child who had been caught hiding his broccoli, but he pushed the emotion back and grabbed his jacket to join Sam. "But you're still a growing Sasquatch Sammy, you've still got what… another foot and half before you match up to all the older Sasquatches?"

Accepting the brief normality, he smiled as they headed towards the Impala, nothing sounding quite so sweet as the irritable sigh that Sam gave him in response. But it wasn't long before they were changed back into their suits and walking into the station, armed with questions and very few answers as they both tried to convince themselves that it was just like any other case.

If he had been able to remember anything substantial about the bar in the dream, he would have been working that angle instead whilst Sam gathered all the files on any missing girls… but as it was, he barely even remember what _she _looked like – beside the fact she was brunette and voluptuous, a characteristic that many of his one night stands had shared. It didn't stop Sam from prodding though, asking him over and over again on their drive to the police station if maybe he'd heard someone say her name or if he'd seen anything in the bar that could be used to help… but no matter how many times he asked, the answer was still no.

Placing his fingers between his shirt and his neck, he tugged a little, grimacing as they pushed through the doors and into the small reception. He hated suits. They always made him itch and the ties were always so damn annoying, why did they always have to be so tight? Sam barely ever even flinched at the prospect of wearing a suit, but then he had wanted to be a lawyer and lawyers and suits did tend to come hand in hand. But for Dean, suits just weren't his thing.

His last tug earned him a sharp nudge to the ribs a they approached the desk, Sam sending a quick warning glare his way as the youngest pulled out his badge. Pulling his feet off the wooden surface, the officer on duty immediately sprang up when he read the words FBI on the badge. It never ceased to amuse Dean how they snapped to attention and of course it was made even funnier by the fact that the badges weren't even real.

Before the young man could open his mouth though, a voice came from their left and they turned to face an open door and the officer that they had come in contact with the night before. "Grant and Rankin right?" he asked, scowl still planted firmly on his face as if the very presence of feds made his skin crawl, especially a pair who had briefly interrupted his crime scene.

"That'd be us." Sam pocketed his badge again as he walked towards the plump man and begrudgingly, Dean followed.

The man was wearing his badge in plain sight today, his position within the force made clear by the words written across it but his name still a mystery and judging by the grim look on his face, the guy wasn't about to introduce himself properly. Sticking out a hand and plastering the smarmiest smile he could muster on his face, Dean decided to force him into it. "Well, you know our names, Detective…"

"Harvey," the man answered, taking Dean's hand in his own. But Dean could tell he only did so because of the black suits and badges. "I'd say it's a pleasure but something tells me this ain't no social visit. You boys got business here or what?"

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Thank you for reading!!


	9. Spiralling quickly

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading so far! I hope you're enjoying. I know the short chapters can be a pain to read sometimes, lol, but they're helping me to try and update regularly :D

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9. Spiralling quickly

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The office was small but judging by the mounds of paperwork and the trashcan sitting off in the far corner, filled to the brim with fast food wrappers and disposable coffee cups, the guy must have spent a fair amount of time in there. He was all business though. No frames on the wall, no medals or trophies lining the shelves. The only thing that gave away that he had a life outside of that room was the small photo of a woman on the desk, holding onto probably one of the most important things in that man's life – his daughter.

Stepping over the threshold, Dean let his eyes wander before finding the open folder on the desk, pictures barely visible as what appeared to be a statement rested over them. Detective Harvey walked around the desk and took a seat, offering Sam and Dean the pair of chairs that sat in front after a long silent moment. It was like he was daring them to be impolite so he had a valid reason to hate them but they weren't about to let him, only sitting when prompted by a wave of his hand.

"So the girl from last night, was she…?" Dean started, but his words faded as his throat refused to work around the girl's name, his eyes falling for a brief second as he imagined how full of life she had been once, her eyes shining and her hair floating around her.

"Lucy Shall. Barely even an adult." Harvey sighed, his fingers playing with the paper in front of him, gaze deliberately avoiding those pictures of her dead body. But almost immediately, as if he had noticed Dean watching his moment of vulnerability, he hardened and looked up, staring them both dead in the eye. "But why would the feds waste their time on a small time case like this? Something like this, girl as pretty as her, was probably some jealous ex boyfriend."

"We're not so sure about that, Detective Harvey." Sam glanced sideways at Dean as he spoke, pushing himself forward in his seat so his elbows rested on his knees and sliding straight back into the role of FBI – so easily and seamlessly. Dean stayed where he was, watching his brother at work, waiting to pick up on whatever lies his brother decided to play on. "Like I told you last night, we're investigating a lead on a case and it can't be a coincidence that it led to our young Miss Shall."

"How long had she been missing for?" Dean went on where Sam left off, turning his attention back towards Harvey. He already knew the answer before the detective spoke up, but it didn't take the dread away or stop him from letting go of a small breath that indicated how much his subconscious had wanted to be wrong.

"One week."

One week. Around about the same time that the dreams started. For one week this guy, this murderous and twisted son of a bitch, had her in his grasp, doing God knows what to her as he caught glimpses in his dreams – forced to watch the sick game that the guy played. But on the other hand, if the killer played by the same rules with the new girl, then they would have one week to find her. He just hoped it would be enough time.

"Have there been anymore missing person reports filed?" Sam's question snapped Dean out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the conversation at hand and the reason why they were here.

"I wouldn't know. I don't get to see them until it makes the news or I get a call in the dead of night telling me there's a dead girl to pick up and a scene to search." With the way he greeted each of their questions, with that almost permanent aggravation, Dean was really beginning to wonder if the guy had a stick lodged firmly up his ass. Then again, the black bags under his eyes and lack of sleep probably didn't help the guy's mood any.

"Well, if we're right about this then Lucy Shall isn't gonna be the only victim of this guy and judging by his pattern, we can only guess that he's already picked up the next girl that he intends to kill so we really need cooperation on this before we find her dead in some back alley as well." The lies slid so fluidly from Sam's mouth, as if he had thought them over thoroughly and yet, knowing that kid, he had probably been able to just snatch the ideas from his mind on the spot and spin them into something that sounded real in less than a second.

Letting go of a heavy sigh, Harvey ran a hand through his hair and Dean almost felt sorry for how utterly exhausted he looked in that second. "Do you have any idea how many false alarms we've had in the past? Some parent ringing up because their son went out drinking and didn't come home only to call later and have to explain they overreacted?"

"It would be somewhere to start at least." Dean jumped in, his eyes imploring as he continued to watch Harvey. "Names, photos, last place they were seen… anything would be better than nothing."

"Fine." He closed the folder as he spoke, the rush of air causing the papers on the desk to rustle and one of the pictures to fly loose and into Dean's view. It wasn't too graphic, at least not after everything he'd witnessed in his life, just a shot of the cuts that had been carved into Lucy's skin and the bruises that now stained it a harsh mixture of yellow and purple. "If you're right, the sooner we find this new victim, the better."

Finally! They were getting somewhere. If only that sudden low buzzing would just go away and leave him alone - that and the light-headedness. He gripped the arm of the chair tightly when he went to stand, blinking as he tried to push himself up but he found his vision wavering, Sam's voice muffled in his ears. Panic flooded his system, spiking as he found himself staring into a pair of cold and chilling eyes, the cries of a young woman echoing around his pounding head.

Then as quick as the attack came, it was gone – leaving him breathing heavy whilst Sam held his shoulders keeping him upright in the chair. He swallowed hard, lifting his gaze to try and find Sam's eyes, searching for something to remind him he was safe and if he couldn't find that in Sam's hazel orbs then he didn't know where he would.

"Dean," Sam uttered, desperate – the name almost sounding choked. "You okay there?"

_Not here Sam._ He kept their eyes locked, begging Sam to hear his unsaid words, hoping he would understand that this was something they could only talk about in private. He only dropped his gaze when Sam nodded minutely, moving to help Dean up. It was then that his eyes focused on the drop of red staining his trousers and he suddenly became aware of a stinging across the palm of left hand. Sam had seen it too, his own hand hovering above before giving in and turning it over to reveal a deep gash.

"Detective Harvey," Sam started, looking up at the man waiting by the door, "Lucy Shall wasn't just killed was she?"

"No…" the man replied solemnly, voice thick with sadness and disgust. "Whoever killed her decided to play with her beforehand."

-.-.-

Thanks!!


	10. Darkness, falling deeper

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Oh God, I know. It feel like ages since I've updated. Sticking to writing certain things has just been a little hard the past few weeks and I went to Scotland last week and still haven't been able to fully recover from the pure exhaustion. Anyway, enough about me and my evil body which insists on making me catch colds and what not. Update time. Thanks so much for reading! It means a lot to me.

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10. Darkness, falling deeper…

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Blood. Deep crimson blood. The red seeping out and dripping down, tickling his skin. The implication of it making his head spin. His blood, her blood… both dripping, both falling to the ground almost soundlessly. His mind joined with the killer, body joined with the victim… He could feel a chill creeping up his spine, causing him to shiver involuntarily. Bile was rising in his throat as Harvey's words circled his mind… Played with her beforehand? He meant tortured… slowly. Tormenting her as night by night, Dean got flashes of what was happening to her.

Then there was a cloth being wrapped around his hand, fingers tugging at it, tightening it and bringing him back to the now – back to the small office and away from the blood. He raised his head, eyes locking with Sam's and he saw the worry staining those hazel orbs so brightly. He'd clicked on too. He knew what this meant. But damned if he was gonna let on to the detective what had just happened.

"You okay there?" Harvey quizzed, the slightest quiver on his voice along with mild suspicion and Dean heard him take a step forward back into the room and away from the doorway.

"Just a dizzy spell," Sam answered, moving to block the detective's view of Dean and the bloody hand. "We didn't get much sleep last night."

Well, Dean had to give it to Sam – it wasn't an entire lie. In fact, it wasn't a lie at all. More like a clouded truth, little dots of information missed out. And from Harvey's halted movements and followed silence, Dean guessed the guy bought it. Or maybe it was just hope. He _hoped_ the guy bought it. After all, the last thing they needed was to have the cops watching their every movement.

He pushed himself up from the seat, taking a moment to breathe in to dispel the remainder of the light-headedness. Sliding his hand deep into his jacket pocket so that it would remind unseen, he turned and offered the best smile he could muster for Harvey and moved passed Sam to follow the detective. They had a job to do. They didn't have time to stand around, taking in the scenery like damn tourists.

"Dean." Sam's voice was harsh and low, a warning tone at the very edges as his eyes cut into Dean sharper than any blade. He was scared, Dean could tell. And he could see the unasked question lingering in those orbs, the plead dying on his brother's silent tongue. Maybe they should just leave and come back when Dean felt better. Maybe they should split and put as much distance between the town and them to see if that would slice through the connection Dean had with the killer… and the victim.

But Dean shook his head in reply. Running would be useless, not to mention cowardly. They didn't run from their problems. Hell, they didn't even saunter. And that was why they ended up bleeding and dying half the time. That was why Dean was going to Hell in three months.

"You gonna be okay?" Harvey asked, eyes still narrowed as his gaze lingered on Dean. Great, now the damn detective was worried about him. But then as he caught sight of his pale reflection, it was hardly surprising that the people around him were acting like he was gonna fall flat on his ass at any moment.

Sam gripped Dean's upper arm, forcing him to pause his movements and look at him. Gaze determined, face set, and Dean knew his brother had come to some form of decision. And why wasn't he surprised by the suggestion that slipped passed Sam's lips? Why wasn't he surprised that it wasn't a suggestion at all but damn near enough John-like to be a freaking order? "Why don't you wait in the car? I'll get the reports from Detective Harvey and meet you out there."

He opened his mouth to argue, feeling the anger burning in his guts but as he felt the stinging sensation in his hand, he let the rage fade into a mere simmer. The truth was, if Dean did go with Sam to collect whatever information the cops had, he would only end up pulling his hand out of his pocket by accident. Then there would be numerous questions asked and more lies and suspicion. It was something they could do without.

"Fine," he growled out, pulling out the keys with his uninjured hand as he glared at Sam before moving swiftly passed Harvey and towards the exit. The venom lingered in his tone as he called back over his shoulder, the anger still there no matter how much he tried to push it away. Anger at himself, at the killer and the dreams… "Just hurry your ass up."

He barely heard the deep sigh that Sam left in his wake and he deliberately blocked out his brother's voice, along with that of the Harvey. He didn't like sitting on the sidelines. He didn't care how short a time he would actually spend there, it didn't change the fact that it was against his nature. He let go of his own sigh as he opened the front doors, the cold air barely even touching his lungs at first.

Walking down the steps, his eyes locked on the Impala, destination in sight, but at the sound of raised voices, he let his gaze wander. There was a couple walking towards the station, the man clearly trying to plead with the woman by his side, gripping onto her arm as she shrugged it off with stubborn ease. A lover's tiff? Had she seen him messing about with another woman?

Before he could push them from his mind though, she called out to him, her voice strong and unwavering, eyes gleaming and red around the edges. She was definitely upset about something. "Hey! Mister! Do you work in there? Are you a cop?"

"Fed actually," he answered, brow furrowing as he halted his movements and saw the man groan, pleading with her one last time as she stormed straight towards Dean.

"Annie, you're gonna make a fool out of yourself. You're overreacting."

But she completely ignored the man's words, coming to a stop directly in front of Dean, taking in a deep and long breath before speaking again. "A fed? As in FBI? So you can help me? You'd have some sort of power? Jurisdiction or whatever?"

"I'm sorry," the man spoke up again, directing his words at Dean this time, his face showing pure exhaustion. "My girlfriend had a tendency to be a little OTT sometimes."

At that, the girl spun to face the man, her boyfriend, anger showing in her features, face red and lips pouting like a petulant child. "I know what I'm talking about Jerry! I'm not an idiot.."

"Listen…" Dean started, taking a step backwards and away from the bickering pair. When they ignored him, he rose his voice a little more and added a slight harshness to it. "Listen! Whatever sort of domestic problems you two have got going on – I can't help. You need to sort it out between yourselves… maybe go to therapy or something."

And he turned away, once again setting his sights on the Impala, the sleek black beauty that would be his escape from these two crazy people, and took another step down and away from the station behind him. But Annie grabbed his upper arm, fingers only slightly digging in as her voice showed pure desperation. "Please… you've got to help."

Closing his eyes and cursing himself, he turned back to face her and she let his arm go. It was then that he noticed the tears streaking down her face and the red patches that must have been lingering from worried tears already spent. "What's the problem?"

"It's my friend," she answered, barely hiding the choked sob in her voice. "She's missing. We went for a drink last night and she hooked up with some guy and now I haven't heard from her since. She's not answering her phone, she's hasn't been home… it's not like her."

No way. It couldn't be. Could it? Could this be the lead they were looking for? He swallowed his hope and put his glass half empty head back on. He didn't need his judgement clouded just yet. "Maybe she's just holed up in some motel room and hasn't woken up yet? It's not even midday."

"That's what I've been telling her," Jerry broke in, heaving an exasperated sigh. Dean almost felt sorry for the guy. He must have had to put up with this for at least the last few hours and people could only be a good sport about things like this for so long.

"No," Annie insisted, shaking her head and swiping away the tears, "Not Katie. She's a party girl and she likes the attention but she always leaves first light. Something's wrong… I just know it is. The guy she left with… there was something about him. And now with that girl on the news… Please. I know I'm right."

"Okay Annie, I'll tell you what – I'm gonna give you my number and I'll take down a few details from you and see what I can find. If you hear from your friend, you call me? Right? I don't like wild goose chases and hate wasting my time for nothing."

-.-.-

Thanks!!


	11. I don’t wanna lose it, coming down

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: It's been awhile. But the muse is being picky. After a long talking to though, it decided to get this chapter out and up. So here we go, moving things along. Thank you all for reading and for the reviews!

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11. I don't wanna lose it, coming down

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"So we've got two girls reported missing within the last seventy-two hours," Sam started as soon as he climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala without even looking at Dean. His attention was on the two folders in his hands, one of which he dropped onto the back seat, obviously dismissing it in favour of the other, "But since I doubt the dream would be that delayed, I'm thinking we can-"

Hearing enough, Dean sighed and started the car, his now bandaged hand resting on the wheel as he turned to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow. "It's not either of them."

"Dean," Sam pleaded, drawing the name out and adding a minor huff at the end of it. His eyes met Dean's, hazel to hazel. "You haven't even looked at the folders yet."

"Don't need to." He drew out a photo from his pocket and dropped it onto his brother's lap. He'd asked Annie if she'd had any pictures and she had nodded, pulling out a group picture from what looked like a good night out. "Katie Del Toro. She's the one in the middle."

"Where did you get this from?" There was an edge of suspicion and worry to Sam's tone as he fingered the edges of the photograph, his eyes studying the faces in it carefully before raising once again to look at Dean.

"It didn't just mysteriously appear if that's what you mean." Without giving his brother or the photo a second glance, he slid the car into drive and set off towards Moonshine – the bar slash club that Annie had mentioned. He just hoped her directions led him in the right direction 'cause he really wasn't in the mood to be driving around for hours in search of it. "She went missing last night," he said, in reference to Katie, the dark-haired victim of the sick sadistic killer that was toying with them all. "Her friend dropped by the station to report her missing but bumped into me instead."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam nod in contemplation, his thumb moving up to his lips so he could chew on the pad of it in the same way he'd been chewing on his knuckles earlier in the diner. "And you're sure this is her? This is the girl from your dream?"

"It's the best damn lead we've got Sam," he retorted, his grip tightening on the wheel for a moment before relaxing as he tried to remember the images from the dream but instead was faced with flashes of the damn vision thing from inside the police station. When he saw Sam opening his mouth, no doubt ready to tell him that they need more than just a lead, he cut him off, his voice hard and cold. Determined. "I'm sure."

It was all they had at the moment. But even with that niggling doubt running through his mind, as his eyes found the picture again, taking in the image of Katie – he knew. He didn't know how he knew but he did. Yes, he was sure. He had to trust himself in that 'cause if he didn't, then he'd have no choice but to fold in on himself and just let the earth swallow him. Just let Hell swallow him. And he needed Sam to trust in him too.

'Course that didn't change the fact that Moonshine was locked up and closed until twelve o'clock, leaving them sitting outside in the Impala for an hour as they waited for someone to come and open up. He didn't know what they expected to find though when they did go inside. It wasn't like the killer would leave them plenty of hints and clues – or a small note saying 'I'm at the big warehouse on the edge of town, come and get me'. Not that there was a big warehouse on the edge of town but still…

Mr Bar Keep didn't know much. He said he kept watch of the trouble makers and just let everyone else get on with it. It's not like he was their babysitter or anything. He did however throw Sam and Dean a bone, saying that Katie and her pals were regulars and that Jennifer, one of the tenders from last night, might have seen who she left with.

It was only when they turned to leave, Sam already out of the door, that the guy shouted Dean back. _What now?_ Irritation ran through him. The guy couldn't give them any more help. Hell, he wasn't even sure if this Jennifer would be any better. Getting passed around from person to person… it kinda wore a guy down when they were in the middle of trying to save someone's life.

"Yeah?" Dean turned to face him, plastering on a fake smile above the 'Jesus, will you just let me leave already' look. But the smile and the look was gone when he saw the guy place something on the surface of the bar, a cloth… a reddish brown… His blood ran cold, hairs standing on end as he raised his eyes up from the stained material and into the suddenly steel gaze of the bar keep.

"She's a bleeder," the guy – the killer – drawled out, words slow and careful as his head tilted, eyes on the cloth as he held a finger against it and moved it back and forth across the counter. "Screamer too." And he grinned, lifting his eyes to meet Dean's. And for a second, Dean thought he saw the flash of something there…

He didn't even feel himself moving but he was. He was across the room and at the bar in seconds, his fingers gripping the front of the man's shirt tightly, fisting it as he dragged him forward so they were nose to nose. "Where is she?"

"You really think it would be that easy Dean?" The guy actually laughed, a dry chuckle that grated on Dean like nails on a chalkboard. "You really think I came here to give myself up… to you?"

"You son of a bitch," Dean spat at him, already reaching for his gun, ready to draw it even if he couldn't use it… couldn't risk killing the guy before finding the girl. But the presence of it in his hands gave him just that little bit more strength, that bit more determination.

But before he could aim it at the guy, the door opened behind them, Sam's voice trailing through with frustration of Dean not having been right behind him on the way out. And that was all the distraction it took. The bar keep's mouth opened up into a painful scream, black smoke billowing out and into the air before going higher and higher… disappearing through the ceiling.

Dean had already let go of the now slightly panicked but otherwise perfectly healthy bar keep and was moving back towards the exit with thunder in each step, bloodied cloth in hand. Demons. Goddamn demons. Always playing games. It wasn't until they were outside that Sam grabbed his arm and swung him around so they were facing each other, his own face set and determined.

"What the hell just happened Dean?"

"That was him! It! Whatever… the killer. A demon. A freaking demon." He looked down at his hand and at the cloth, his heart beating so wildly that he was sure it was going to jump through his chest any second now. "And I just let him get away…"

"You didn't _let_ him do anything Dean. He was toying with you." Sam released his arm and just stood there, staring at him. Wasn't he angry? "There was nothing either of us could have done. But at least now we know what we're dealing with."

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Thanks for reading guys!


	12. I crashed into you

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: It has been nearly a year since I started this fic and far too long since I updated it. Real life has been hectic. I won't bore you with the details but things have been rough and crazy, especially since I've just finished my last year at university. However, I did make a promise. I promised that if I started to upload a fic, that I would finish it. Now that I have some time off, I plan to focus my attention on finishing this fic before moving onto my other two unfinished fics.

For all those who are still interested in reading - I thank you so much. You guys are incredibly patient and incredibly awesome. It really does mean a lot to me.

Quick recap: Dean's been having nightmares where he is torturing and murdering young girls. So far one body has turned up but now another girl is missing and it seems as though Dean not only has a connection to the killer but also to the victims. After a short run in with the demon responsible, the boys search for any other lead they can get their hands on before the missing girl's time is up.

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12. I crashed into you and I went up in flames…

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Jennifer wasn't home. After accepting that what Sam said was true – that neither of them had just let the demon leave – the pair had decided it best to follow up on Jennifer, the tender from the night before. If the demon had mentioned her, then that could mean she was in danger too. Or it could have been one giant red herring, a big ole goose chase… But she wasn't home.

Her empty shell of a body was. One wall was painted in her blood, her body limp at the base of it, eyes open and dead. But she wasn't home. Not anymore. She was dead and gone. There had been no toying with this one, no games. It was done purely to prove it could be done. The blood fresh, within the hour most likely, body still holding that tiny amount of warmth that reminded you just how close you'd been. And that was exactly what the demon had intended.

"God damn it!" Dean cursed, kicking the lamp that lay on the floor near his foot and sending it flying to break even more against the bookshelf. "That son of a bitch is toying with us… toying with _me._"

"Dean!" Sam called in warning and Dean turned to face him. He felt sick and he felt angry and there was nothing that Sam could say that would stop him feeling like that. Kicking lamps across the room wasn't going to help either though. "You calm?"

"Take a wild guess," he bit out, words coated in venom but he shook his head and took a breath. It was getting to him, making him frustrated. Two girls dead and another missing and being tortured by some sick demon that had a grudge against Dean and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

Forcing himself to push the anger aside, he closed his eyes and tried to think, opening them again when he heard the sound of beeping. Sam had his cell phone in one hand and a card in the other. He didn't even look up to see the questioning glance that Dean sent him before answering. "Might as well give Harvey the heads up."

"Great, you do that." He folded his arms behind his head, his eyes drawn toward the dead girl once more. She was another young one, probably only working the bar to get enough money to put herself through college. Another life ruined and for what?

"Dean, why don't you wait in the car?" Sam's voice worked its way through the thick air and Dean barely heard the words until Sam repeated his name, worry colouring it. "Dean…"

"I'm fine, Sam," he choked out, not giving him a chance to dispute the claim as he forced his legs to move towards the door, taking Sam up on his suggestion. He couldn't stay in that room any longer, not with the dead girl's eyes staring into him, unseeing, and not with Sam watching every move he made like he was about to break down completely at any second. Not that he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't.

He heard Sam on the phone as he made his way back to the staircase. The buzzing in his head was growing and he felt the first wave of dizziness as he hit the first step. Not now. Not again. He couldn't… He didn't want to see or feel or hear the fear that belonged to the missing girl.

Gripping the railing tightly, he forced himself to move onward but already his vision was blurring. His heart pounded in his ears, quickening and growing louder by the second to the point of nearly deafening. By the time he heard the scream, his vision had completely gone to be replaced by darkness. A thick black that felt suffocating as adrenaline pumped through his body causing it to vibrate from panic. He tried to call out for Sam but nothing came out. His body wouldn't move, wouldn't respond to him at all. But he could still feel the pain that worked its way through every fibre – from the stinging of the slashes on his skin to the burning around his wrists from the ropes that bound him.

In front of him, the shadows shifted. He could make out a pair of cold eyes, fixed on him. The rest of the face remained hidden but Dean imagined the lips to be curved up into a vicious smile. The thought made him sick.

"I'm going to end you," he managed to say but the words were no more than a whisper and he couldn't help but wonder why he felt so weak - so powerless.

The eyes glistened in response before disappearing. The owner didn't disappear though. He just moved. Within barely a moment, his breath was warm and sticky on the back of Dean's neck, his words slow and taunting, they themselves like a knife twisting in Dean's gut. "Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall."

As the words wrapped themselves around him, tainted by the demon's breath, he felt the touch of a cool blade on his neck. It sat there for a long moment in the silence before slowly being traced across his skin, deep enough for blood to seep out and for pain to spark. He tried to hold himself still, but his breathing quickened, fear seeping back in as he heard the short whimpering from the girl.

Beneath the whimpering, he heard his name and the sound of thumping footsteps. The darkness crept back to be replaced by the bright fluorescent light of the lamps on the staircase. The vision, the waking-dream or nightmare, whatever you wanted to call it, it had all felt so real that he was so sure he had been there – so sure it hadn't been a dream at all.

He could still feel it, could still feel aching in his body and the throbbing burn on his neck where the knife had been held. Lifting his hand to touch the skin, he barely even registered as Sam joined him on the steps, his head still far too light. When he pulled his fingers away, he saw the red that tainted them but it barely felt real. It felt like this was the dream and the dark place was the reality – like this was just a momentary escape of worse things yet to come.

"Dean, can you hear me?" Sam questioned, his voice frantic as his hand gripped Dean's wrist and caused him to wince, pain slicing up through his arm. It brought his attention back to his brother and he shook away the fogginess clouding his brain.

Groaning, he attempted to push himself up but failed, collapsing back onto the step, his energy drained from him and even though the feeling was fading, he had no doubt it would return. He swallowed hard and looked to Sam, locking eyes with him. "I don't think she's going to last a week, Sam."

The implication of Dean's words hung between them. What would happen when the demon had enough and killed the girl? What would happen to Dean?

-.-.-

Thank you so much for reading!


	13. I'll dream you wide awake

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I want to say a deep and heartfelt thank you to all those who are still reading. Not sure I can explain how much it means to me. As you can see, I'm sticking with short chapters for this but I'm hoping that will allow me to work on it a little each week and update faster so that I can get it finished for you guys - and so you can find out who the demon in question is. Thank you guys!

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13. I'll dream you wide awake

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By the time they got back to the motel room, it was late afternoon. The sky was darkening and the clouds were grey and gloomy. It was fitting. Water from the road was splashed up by passing cars and even more came down from the sky, rain pounding against the window of the room. Dean stared out at it for a moment longer before returning his attention to his wrists.

The skin around them were red and burning, tender to the touch – like a rope had bound him in place. The wounds on his palm and neck had long stopped bleeding and were now wrapped in bandages. If this was what was getting through to him, he could only imagine what the girl was going through and in truth, he didn't want to. He didn't dare close his eyes for fear of what he would see but the headache that pounded at the base of his temple made it painful for him to keep them open.

Sam was sitting at the table, laptop in front of him and cell phone out, ready to retry Bobby. He had been trying the elder hunter since they got back to the motel but as of yet, he hadn't answered. Dean could tell he was getting frustrated. His fingers hit the keys of the laptop that little bit harder each time he failed to find something or Bobby failed to answer. He hadn't even touched the coffee that Dean had forced him to get by giving him the ultimatum of either sleep for a solid eight hours or get something into his system – Sam had chosen caffeine.

"At least we know I'm not the killer," Dean voiced, false hope littering his words as he attempted to get Sam to say something that wasn't a grumble or a grunt. Sure, he wasn't the killer but they were no closer to finding out who the killer was and where they could find him. The girl was still in danger and so was Dean.

"Didn't exactly need to see demon smoke to figure that one out, Dean." Sam still stared at the screen, his fingers paused as he scanned the information on the screen. By his reaction, Dean guessed it was another dead end.

"Thanks for that, smartass, but you can hardly blame me for being cautious. After everything we've been through… well, you just never know." He sat up a little on the bed and ran a hand across his face, allowing it to rest in front of his eyes for a moment too long. A flash of cold eyes in the darkness had him removing it immediately in favour of the dingy colour of the motel room. "Maybe we should drop by to see Detective Harvey – he could have something new."

For that, he received a glare from Sam. A very long and very cold glare. "Don't even think of it."

Pushing himself up and off the bed, Dean shook his head and wandered over to the window, staring out across the miserable scene of rain and darkened skies. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not gonna break, Sam, and we're not gonna get any closer to figuring this thing out if we lock ourselves away in this room. If something is going to happen, it'll happen no matter where we are."

"That's not exactly a comforting thought." Silence followed, drawn out by the absence of clicking keys. The only sounds were from the rain and the few cars that raced passed the motel.

"Maybe you should try Bobby again," Dean suggested when he couldn't take the silence any longer. He could feel Sam's eyes on him but he didn't turn to face him, instead keeping his eyes on the flashing neon sign across the road. Beside it was a bus stop and a lone figure who was probably wishing the bus would hurry up and get there as soon as.

"Sure." The word flowed out on a relenting sigh and immediately, the empty space was filled with the sound of the cell phone calling out.

Dean didn't have much hope that Bobby would answer. If he hadn't answered already and hadn't called them back then chances were he was busy with something else that had nothing to do with demons and dreams and missing girls. The phone clicked though and he thought he heard a small but gruff 'hello' echoing down the phone and through the air.

"You on vacation there, Bobby?" Sam asked, the teasing words coming out tight.

Dean gave up on trying to listen to the reply and even Sam's words seemed to fade away as he focused his attention instead on the red and white bus that pulled up across the road. The neon sign flashed and blinked before giving in altogether and remaining off. He imagined the guy would be glad to get out of the rain and the darkness and onto the brightly lit bus.

"Dean, did you hear what I said?" Sam's voice tore his attention away from the bus as it pulled away, a sheepish grin sliding onto Dean's face as he couldn't even pretend to have heard. He didn't realise how long he had been staring out of the window, lost in thought.

"You're joining the circus?" he joked but his smile slipped away as Sam's face grew serious, an unspoken warning written there.

"I said Bobby's going to call a friend. He said she's a specialist of something or other. She might be able to help us break this thing – whatever it is."

"And what about finding the girl? What if by breaking the link, we lose the girl?" It wasn't anger that slipped out on Dean's words but despair. He couldn't stand the thought of another person dying because of him. He wasn't about to let that happen, not again.

Sam's reply didn't make it to his ears, the words covered by the whispered name that echoed through his ears and drew his attention back toward the window. It was his name, floating in the air like a hummingbird before a flower, hungry. The neon sign across the road was still out but there was still enough light for him to see the figure at the bus stop, still standing there in the cold and wet.

The longer that he stared, the more he realised they were staring back. It was impulse that drove him out of the door and out into the rain. He reached for his gun, as he raced across the road, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a dark blue sedan, but the gun wasn't there. It was back in the motel room, sitting on the bed. It didn't matter though, gun or no gun, this demon was going down. He would beat the girl's location out of it if he had to.

None of it mattered though. The rain pouring down to soak through his shirt and jeans, the passing cars that blared their horns angrily or his brother shouting as he attempted to catch up with Dean – none of it. The demon was gone by the time he reached the bus stop. Always one step ahead, watching and taunting – playing a game that was designed so Dean couldn't win. The demon was gone and with him, hope of saving the girl was fading too.

-.-.-

Love you guys - thanks for reading!


	14. Heal My Wounds

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for the great reviews. And for your patience, here is another chapter - I'll be hoping to get the next up about the same time next week. Thanks!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

14. Heal My Wounds

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bobby put the phone back on the hook and took a deep sigh. Those boys were like family to him and for all the good they did, they sure as hell were a lot of trouble. They attracted it like bright colours attract bees or like fresh blood attracts vampires. It wasn't enough that Dean had sold his soul and in doing so bought himself a one way, unbreakable ticket to Hell, now he had some demon with a grudge tormenting him.

Grabbing a small notebook that sat by his collection of phones, he flipped through it and put his finger to the name he was searching for. Pamela Barnes. If he had any hope of finding out what was going on, she was it. She had contacts that knew more than the most knowledgeable hunter.

It didn't take her long to answer the phone. He could practically hear the smile through her voice, her hearty greeting having him attempting a smile in return but he didn't quite make it. "How you doing, Bobby?" she asked and he let out a short snort.

"One step closer to the grave but still fighting," he answered, a light and friendly growl to his voice. His eyes fell to the floor and he shook his head, gathering his thoughts from what Sam had told him over the phone as he went on, getting straight to the point of the phone call. "I got a friend in trouble and am looking for some information."

"What do ya need, sugar?" Her voice was upbeat, eager to help and he could hear her shuffling about down the phone, already gathering the needed materials together.

"Dean Winchester – he's got a demon latched onto him. I need to know how and how to stop it." With his spare hand, he fiddled with the rim of his cap before lifting it and running his hand through his hair.

She paused, the phone going silent for a moment. Demons tended to be harder to track than other beings but if anyone could find out, she could. "This demon have a name?"

"If it does, it ain't telling."

He heard her push a deep breath out, thoughtful and determined, like she was already working out what to ask and who to ask it to. "I'll do my best. Can't promise anything but if there's something to find, I'll Ouija my way to it."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Water dripped down from his hair to join the droplets that already trailed down his face. A headache was building again but he ignored it, instead spinning to search every direction for any sign of the demon.

"Dean," Sam called from directly behind him, worrying filtering into his voice. No matter how loud it was though, it faded into the background as Dean continued searching.

With the neon light still out and the sky overcast and cloudy, it was too dark to see. Even the light from the passing headlights failed to illuminate the area. Dean felt his brother's hand on his upper arm but he didn't turn to look. "He was here, Sam. The demon was standing right here."

"He's not here now, Dean, and we're getting soaked." The voice of reason. But as reasonable as it sounded, it still wasn't getting through to Dean. They were so close to the demon, or at least the demon was so close to them, and yet it still slipped through their fingers. "Let's get inside, Dean. We'll talk about it there."

Reluctantly, he allowed Sam to guide him back across the road and toward the room. His eyes never stopped searching the shadows though. If the demon liked to watch and to taunt, chances were it was still watching from some place unseen, just out of reach. And if it wasn't watching then that would mean it was back with the girl so if he had to take being stalked by a demon to keep the girl out of harm's way, then he would.

Inside the room, he caught sight of his reflection. Staring into it was like staring at the picture of someone else. He was drenched and pale, hair flattened from the rain and eyes dull from exhaustion and fear. Blood mingled with water and he cringed. He hadn't felt the blood, seeping from the gash on his hand, which now ran down his fingertips or the opened cut on his neck that stained the top of his shirt red. Everything was just so wet that he had assumed it was just the water from the rain. To top it all off, Sam was hovering.

"You need to eat or sleep or something… before you drop." Sam moved over to the table as he spoke, snatching up the keys to the Impala along with his phone. When he turned back to face Dean, his eyes lingered on the patches of red and Dean felt himself shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Don't really have much of an appetite," Dean answered, tearing his eyes away from the reflection and refusing to look at Sam. Instead, he moved to the bed and sat at the edge, elbows resting on his knees as he held his head in his hands. "And I don't exactly feel like sleeping anytime soon."

"Then at least try to eat something. A burger, some fries… hell, even a chocolate bar – anything." The frustration was clear and Dean didn't need to look up in order to see Sam rubbing at his temples as he spoke.

Lifting his head a little, Dean looked to Sam with sceptical eyes and a raised eyebrow. "I doubt it would really make much difference. The demon is still out there and the girl is still in trouble…" His gaze dropped to his bloodied hand and he clenched it for a moment before letting it fall to his knee. "And so am I."

"We'll figure this out, Dean. Bobby's on it, he's making some calls and he's gonna find something. Then we can stop this demon - save you and the girl. I promise."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The phone rang a lot sooner than Bobby expected it to. It made his heart jump into his throat as panic flitter through him, the fear that it was Sam calling to say something had happened to Dean. Even when he heard Pamela's voice and not Sam's, he couldn't get rid of that fear, it lingered, causing his heart to speed and his jaw to clench.

"Hey, sugar, I found your demon," she announced, her usual upbeat nature toned down. He could tell that whatever she had learned, it wasn't good but then, he hadn't been expecting good news. "And he is one bad S.O.B."

"What's he want with Dean?" Bobby questioned, almost fearing the answer.

She hesitated, the silence dragging on for a long moment. "The word is, he wants to give your boy a taste of what's to come."

Another long pause followed and Bobby stood in silence, listening to the faint buzz that echoed down the phone. The words circled in his head before finally settling. Hell. This demon was putting Dean through hell in order to what, prepare him for it? To make his wait just that little more horrific? "What else do you know?"

"Just whispers, nothing solid. Whatever this demon had planned for your boy, he needs a sacrifice to do it."

"Makes sense," Bobby replied, feeling his body slump as he thought about the girl that Sam had told him about. She was the sacrifice that kept the connection open. "What about the link? Anything about that, such as how to break it?"

"Something like that would require powerful magic and it can't be done from afar. Either this demon took something from your boy or it slipped him something… that and the sacrifice is what's made this link."

His stomach felt like someone had dropped a weight into it. "And this something could be…"

"Pretty much anything the demon wanted it to be," she finished his sentence for him and the weight in his stomach sank that little deeper as she confirmed his thoughts. The good news – if they found the object, they could sever the connection. The bad news – finding the object would be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

-.-.-

Thanks for reading!


	15. Break Me Down

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Another thank you to all who are reading and for the great reviews. It really means a lot to me. So thank you!

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15. Break Me Down

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After cleaning and redressing Dean's wounds, Sam had reluctantly left his brother to go in search of food. He had finally gotten Dean to agree to eat something though if Sam was honest, he was sure his brother only agreed so that it meant Dean would get Sam out of his hair. If it wasn't for the completely weary expression on Dean's face, Sam would have made him come to the diner too but in the state Dean was in, it would have done more harm than good.

As he waited for the food to come, he played with the keys to the Impala in his hand and looked out across parking lot. A sigh slipped passed his lips as he thought about how Dean was holding up. His spare hand slipped inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone but he fought the temptation to hit the dial button. Dean was fine. The whole trip would take half an hour, if that. Surely even Dean couldn't get into that much trouble within such short a time span. But then… it was Dean.

"Here's your order, sir," the young waitress said, drawing Sam's attention back to the diner. The girl, probably no more than twenty, smiled brightly and held out a paper bag for him. He offered a half-hearted smile in return but he was sure it probably looked more like a grimace.

"Thanks," he replied, slipping the keys into his jacket with his phone before reaching out for the bag and the cardboard cup holder that held two black coffees. He had just gotten himself into the warmth and dry of the car when he felt his phone vibrate and heard the start of a familiar ringtone.

His first instinct was panic and he wrestled with his jacket in order to pull the phone out as fast as he could. It wasn't Dean's name that lit up the display though, it was Bobby's. But it was too early to be relieved. "Bobby, you got something?" he greeted, already putting the keys into the ignition to start the engine.

"Yeah, I've got something," Bobby answered and his tone caused Sam's stomach to squirm nervously. It made him even more anxious to get back to Dean and as Bobby carried on, Sam put his foot down just that little bit more.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean sat with his back against the headboard of his bed. His eyes stared straight ahead and he chewed at the nail of his thumb as he waited. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for – Sam to get back, the demon to show up again or another attack. Though subconsciously, he knew what would be coming next. He could already feel it approaching as the headache built up behind his eyes and a low buzzing started in his ears.

"Hurry up, Sam," he mumbled, his eyes glancing momentarily towards the darkened door. He could barely even make out the frame of the wooden doorway or the salt that sat in a neat semi-circle at the threshold.

The lights were out and the room was filled with darkness – even the light from the laptop had died as the screensaver had come on several moments after Sam had left. But Dean didn't feel like flipping the switch and turning the lights on. It wasn't because the darkness comforted him. It was because he couldn't bring himself to hide away in the light whilst the girl was still trapped in the dark with the demon.

A growl left his throat and he lashed out as the thought of what the demon was doing to the girl passed through his mind. The clock on the bedside table went flying to smash against the floor with a metallic clang. It didn't even register above the buzzing in his ears. The sound of sobbing made it through the noise though, weak cries begging to be left alone, to be set free.

His eyes searched the darkness of the room but it was just as still as before. No one was there. The cries were real though. He knew they were. Empty room or no empty room, they echoed around his head, each plead stabbing deeper and sending a sharp pain through his skull. Fumbling through the pain, he pushed himself up and toward the light switch but when he pressed it, the light flickered on for only a moment before dying with a violent hiss.

"Sam!" he called the name instinctively, praying his brother would be close but feeling the overwhelming lack of hope that told him Sam was still too far away.

Facing the room, the shadows shifted and his breath caught in his throat as he thought he saw a pair of pale white eyes staring back at him. They were gone as quick as they had appeared but the afterimage remained with Dean, sending a chill down his spine. The sobbing grew louder, the pain mounting as he was quickly losing focus like back at the stairwell. He was running out of time, he could feel it.

His hand dug into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out his phone. The display was too bright and the letters merged together but he didn't care. He needed to call Sam. He needed to tell him. It was happening again. Pressing the call button, he held the phone up close to his ear and prayed. Silence echoed back at him before Sam's voice finally broke through the buzzing and the cries but they weren't the words Dean wanted to hear – the pre-recorded voicemail message so familiar that Dean knew it immediately and felt his heart plummet.

His body did the same, his knees giving out as his vision began to darken and he could feel consciousness ebbing away from him. His energy drained, he tried to force out Sam's name once more before fading completely but the weight of it seemed to hold his tongue still and he wasn't sure the word made it out.

When the world came back to him, he was strung up like before. His wrists burned from the rope that kept him bound and every single muscle cried out in agony to the point that it was easier to just allow his chin to rest on his chest instead of raising it. The cries from the girl had quietened, only weak sobbing echoing in the empty and dark expanse of whatever place the demon had chosen as its torture chamber.

"Dean Winchester." His name spilled from the darkness and he raised his eyes enough to see a man approaching him. "I didn't think you would break so easily."

The words wrapped around Dean before moving to nestle under his skin like poison spreading through him. The mere sound of them made him shiver, nausea waving over him. He wasn't broken yet though, not so badly that he couldn't fight back. "When I wake up, I will find you and when I do, I will kill you."

A smarmy grin spread across the demon's face and it reached out to place a hand on Dean's head. Fingers weaved into the strands of his hair and his head was yanked up so he was looking at the demon directly, white eyes staring into him. Again, like poison, the demon spoke, words a slow and deliberate drawl that reached deep into Dean. "Oh, you're not waking up this time. That would spoil all the fun we're going to have."

-.-.-

Thanks!


	16. Many of Horror

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I wanted to get this up last week but I wasn't happy with the chapter. But I'm happy to say that I've finally got it ready now. Another short one. Thanks for reading!

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16. Many of Horror

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The motel in sight, Sam gave Bobby a quick promise of an update before hanging up and throwing his phone onto the passenger seat to join the food. Why couldn't things ever be easy? He pulled up in the parking lot, just outside the room, and went over what Bobby had told him across the line. Demon – check. Sacrifice in the form of the missing girls – check. Missing object keeping the connection open – not so check.

Pushing the car door open, he grabbed the food bag – shoving his phone on top for convenience – and the coffee before clambering out of the car. It was like a juggling act. He barely managed to stop himself from spilling the coffee as he locked the Impala and set off towards the room.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the lack of lights in the motel room until he was at the door. It send a sickly feeling rushing through him and pushed any remaining thoughts to the back of his head as his attention focused solely on getting to his brother.

"Dean!" he called, balancing the coffee and food with one hand as he used the other to open the door.

No reply.

His heart hammered, pounding at his ribcage painfully.He would have told himself to panic but he was passed that now so there was no point. So panic it was. "Dean!" he shouted out again, reaching for the light switch by the door.

The room was as he left it. Everything in its place except for Dean. He was lying on the floor between the two beds. No longer caring about the preservation of the food or coffee, the packet and holder dropped to the floor, his cell phone joining them. The thud and the splash fell on deaf ears, Sam's concentration on Dean and Dean alone.

"Do not do this to me, Dean. C'mon man." He sank to his knees beside his brother, his fingers moving quickly to Dean's neck to find a pulse. It was there, strong as ever. But Dean was gone, unconscious, back into the playpen that belonged to the demon.

Manoeuvring himself, Sam heaved Dean up and moved him to the bed, lowering him down gently. His face looked peaceful, the slow rise and fall of his chest suggesting a calmness but Sam wasn't fooled by the lie. Where Dean was right then, it wasn't peaceful and he certainly wouldn't be calm. All the more reason to wake him up.

"Time to stop messing about, bro," Sam pleaded, praying for some response but nothing came. It was unreal how still his brother was. He never slept that deeply – it came from being a hunter his entire life. And yet, even with Sam shaking his shoulder, he was still out of it. So still…

Even the wound son his neck and hand had stopped bleeding. But Sam wasn't about to let false hope weave its way into him. If things were fine, if everything was alright and as it should be then Dean would have been awake.

Only he wasn't. No matter what Sam did or what he said. He wasn't waking up.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

What had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time barely seemed to exist in the dark place where Dean was strung up. From the looks, he guessed it was some unused warehouse – and wouldn't that information have been useful so much earlier? Such as when he was awake? At least then Sam would have had something to look for.

"The infamous Dean Winchester," the demon drawled, drawing Dean's attention away from the rafters and towards it. He paced in front of Dean before coming to a stop. His right hand hung by his side and Dean found his gaze moving down to it and the object in its grasp. A dull and crooked blade. At least if it was sharpened it would have been quicker and just ever so slightly less painful. But then, why would the demon want that?

The blade was probably filthy too meaning an infection would set in. Then again, could he get an infection if it was all in his head? If he was still asleep and this was all a nightmare pulled together by the demon? But everything felt so real, he was beginning to doubt that he was dreaming.

The demon moved forward and placed the blade on Dean's chest. He didn't attempt to dig it in or slice him. He simply rested it there, waiting as he grinned lazily at Dean. "I've been _dying_ to meet you." The word was an extra slow drawl, drawn out with the venomous tongue and Dean found himself cringing. "It's a little early I know but I was feeling a little eager."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said, playing ignorance. But there was only really one thing the demon would be talking about. It was the very thing that every demon loved to rub in. Hell. He tried for a grin that said he didn't care what the demon tried but the pain running through his body turned it into a grimace

"Hell, Dean. I'm talking about your deal to save you baby brother – the same deal that means you'll get to spend the rest of your afterlife in my company." The tip of the blade rested a little harder against Dean's chest, pressing in until it drew blood. "Now, this is going to hurt a bit."

The blade cut in, carving through his flesh and Dean closed his eyes, teeth clenching as he tried not to cry out in agony. He couldn't look but he didn't need to in order to see what the demon was doing to him. He had seen it in a movie when he was younger. Sam would have been ten or eleven and had spent most of the movie with his hands over his face but Dean had seen the real deal – so a bit of fake skin and fake blood didn't faze him. But it was all real now – or it certainly felt that way.

He could feel the knife sliding down and catching as his skin was peeled back. Half an inch at first then a little further and a little further until it got so far down that finally, Dean couldn't clench his teeth anymore and a cry ripped through his throat. The pain laced through his system. The knife was only carving at the skin on his chest but he could feel it everywhere, like an echo in a canyon, fading away the further it got but still lingering. His hands formed fists and his muscles tensed. He thought it would never end and for once he was glad he was wrong on that little detail.

When the demon finally moved back and stopped with his carving of the Halloween pumpkin, Dean drew in a breath. It hurt to breathe too deep but shallow breaths were enough. They would have to be. Eyes closed, his chin rested on his chest and he listened as he counted each breath. In, out – one. In, out – two. A mantra to keep his focus as he prayed for Sam to find him a way out of that place.

-.-.-

Thank you for reading!


	17. Whereabouts Unknown

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I can feel this story drawing slowly to an end - the next few chapters planned out and ready to write. Thanks again for taking the time to read!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

17. Whereabouts Unknown

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Sam sat on the spare motel bed, hazel eyes locked on Dean. Once or twice, he saw his brother's face twist, a grimace falling into place for mere moments before being wiped again – replaced by a neutral expression. Peaceful. Serene. Sam was feeling anything but.

"You listening to me?" Bobby's gruff voice came down the line, echoing through the cell phone and into Sam's ear. It tore Sam's attention away from thoughts of what Dean was going through and back to the conversation at hand.

"I'm listening," he answered, blinking in order to push the images away, his mouth dry and eyes strained. He had called Bobby when Dean had shown no signs of waking and now he sat with the elder hunter on the line as they tried to work things through. His eyes stared at the worn carpeting of the room, unseeing and distracted. The twisting in his stomach and the painful gnawing at his brain told him that his older brother wasn't going to get out of whatever nightmare he had been dragged into without help.

Bobby sighed, long and rough. Sam could hear the worry on it. Worry for Dean and worry for Sam. "He's gonna be okay, Sam. This is Dean. He's too cocky to let some demon get the better of him."

It was a lie. They both knew it. Dean was cocky but he was vulnerable too. He could only handle so much. But the lie felt better. It was something to hang onto, something to grip tightly because the alternative would mean loss of hope and that would get them nowhere.

"I need to wake him up, Bobby." Desperation rested on each word and his free hand fisted the sheet of the bed beneath him. He couldn't find the energy to lie out loud. If he did, he knew he would hear the shake in his voice and the illusion would be shattered. If he was going to keep it together in order to get Dean back, he needed the illusion to be strong… he needed hope that it really would be okay.

"If we break the connection, we wake him up." It sounded so simple and Sam scoffed at the thought.

"Right – so all we need to do now is find whatever the hell it is that the demon used. How hard could that be? Just like looking for a hex bag, easy as pie." He shook his head and stood up to pace, his eyes idly looking over the room as if he expected to see a hex bag poking out from underneath somewhere or from around the corner of something. Past experience had taught him that hex bags were never easy to be found and he doubted that the demon who was toying with Dean would make it any easier than others from the past.

"You've got to think back to when you first arrived in town. Every little detail… what you ate, drank, touched. Who you talked to, who Dean flirted with… everything. It's in there somewhere. It has to be."

Sam nodded, his pacing coming to a stop at the foot of Dean's bed. He heard the sound of pages being turned from down the line and knew Bobby was trying to find out how to break the connection. It was the best thing he could do for Dean. "I'll call you when I find something."

"He's gonna be okay," the elder hunter repeated and Sam appreciated his effort. He clung onto the words, needed to believe them.

When the phone clicked and the call ended, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and moved to sit on the edge of the Dean's bed, watching over Dean as his brother had watched over him many times before. "You're my big brother, Dean. Fight him. If anyone can, I know you can."

His head fell forward, eyes shut as he drew in a deep breath. "Please… I still need you, Dean."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The sound of pained whimpering filled Dean's ears and he forced his head up, his eyes opening. The demon had disappeared into the shadow, his toys with him but he was still there. Dean could feel it. He could feel the demon's eyes on him, sharper and deadlier than any blade.

The whimpering continued and Dean tried to swallow, his mouth too dry and lips even drier. Dry or not, he cleared his throat and called out, hoping to reach the girl. "I'm gonna get you out of here, I swear. I'm not gonna let you die here."

He heard the girl yelp, frightened by something. It didn't take a genius to work out what had scared her. Dean growled, his teeth clenched as he fought against the ropes that bound him. "Leave her alone you son of a bitch. You've got me now, so leave her out of it."

"I have no intention of wasting any more time on her." The demon's words came from the same direction as the girl and she grew quiet. No doubt too scared to make a sound, or so Dean hoped she was silent by choice.

"I swear to God-" Dean started, thrashing once more before the pain in his chest flared and caused him to stop to take in quick, shallow breaths. His head fell forward once again but he kept his eyes open as he tried to fight against the darkness that threatened to claim his vision. The demon's words had left him feeling cold and he couldn't help the thoughts of what the demon would do now he had no use for the girl. "Just let her go. Please."

"I'm afraid," the demon went on, his voice drawing nearer, "I can't do that." He stopped directly behind Dean, a cool blade resting upon the skin of Dean's back. "I still need her alive, her blood dripping and fresh."

"Why?" Dean forced out, refusing to move as he tried to steady his breathing.

"So I can keep you here."

The blade ran along his skin, not deep enough to cut but enough to let Dean know of its constant presence. It moved around to his abdomen as the demon circled him, finally coming to a rest just beside his belly button, waiting – the sharpened metal eager.

Raising his eyes, Dean could see the eagerness reflected in the demon's white orbs and he forced himself to stare back into the emptiness that lay in them. "Who are you?"

A crooked smile split the demon's face and he leaned in, whispering into Dean's ear. "Others call me Alastair but you can call me teacher." The blade dug in a little deeper and Dean fought to keep from crying out as it broke through the skin. "And oh, the things I'm going to teach you."

The blade was twisted and Dean gasped, feeling fire spread through him, the burning flames remaining even when the knife was removed. His gaze fell, taking in the red that seeped from him, before rising again to see that the blade had disappeared from the demon's hands to be replaced by what looked like a handheld garden fork or a crooked metal claw.

Even as his heart sped up and his body stiffed, well aware of what the tool could and would do, he couldn't help but think of Sam – an absent thought in his mind telling him that Sam would know the proper name of this new toy. He closed his eyes, teeth clenching in expectation, ready for the pain to come but he clung onto the thought of Sam.

And he swore he heard his brother's voice, heard him pleading for Dean to fight, pleading for him to hang on. The pain ripped through him, a scream echoing in its presence, but he clung onto the words he thought he heard. He clung onto the thought of his brother and prayed.

-.-.-

Thank you for reading!


	18. Dream Reaper

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, been ill on and off for the past couple of weeks so haven't had much of a chance to get anything written. One or two more chapters to go I should think so thank you for following this.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

18. Dream Reaper

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean was drained, his throat raw from the screams that ripped painfully through it, each one cutting in deeper. Every inch of him cried out in anger, frustration and pain. Blood tainted his skin, the loss of it causing his head to spin and body to tire. The demon was relentless. When it came to physical torture, this demon knew his stuff. He knew exactly how deep a blade could go before it would kill and where that blade would hurt the most. Dean could see it in his eyes, to this demon, torture was an art form and Dean was going to be his masterpiece.

"What would the great John Winchester think of you now?" the demon drawled, standing before Dean, hands bloody and eyes filled with malice. "What would Daddy think of his son?"

Dean scowled but ignored the taunt. Instead, he spat at the floor by the demon's feet, spit tainted with red. Just when he thought the demon couldn't hurt him anymore than he already had, he brought up the one subject that hit Dean like a punch to the gut every time. He denied it. He always did. But his guts still twisted, his chest still ached and his mind was spinning.

"Do you hate him for selling his soul for you?" The demon's voice dropped and he leaned in close, his pungent breath brushing against Dean's ear. "Go on, you can tell me. I won't tell anyone."

"Go to hell." Dean's words were barely audible, feeling like broken glass in his throat. He didn't hate his father. He told himself that every single day. He stared at his reflection and told himself he couldn't hate his father for sacrificing himself to save him. He couldn't… because if he did, then how did Sam feel about him doing the exact same thing?

The demon seemed to be following the same train of thought. The blade dug into Dean's abdomen and he gasped, trying to catch his breath as the demon continued with his taunts. "And now poor Sammy, all alone in the world. No father, no brother and only one person to blame."

"I did it… for him." Dean took a gulp of air, fighting against the pain that rippled out from where the blade sat. The demon twisted it, a sneer on his face and vicious laughter in his throat.

"You did it for yourself. You just couldn't bear to live without him so you decided he would have to live without you." The blade was removed and Dean's chin fell to his chest, breathing shallow. "But who knows, maybe you did him a favour. Without you… he can be normal. After all, it was you who dragged him away from Jessica, away from a normal life."

He wanted to deny it, his lips moving soundlessly as his throat refused to work, the words nothing more than an echo in his mind.

"He doesn't need you anymore, Dean. He doesn't want you."

Eyes falling closed, Dean shook his head. The words felt like a stab through his heart. They felt worse that any of the other wounds the demon had already inflicted upon him. "That's not true. He's my brother…"

"And he's just biding his time, waiting for Hell to come knocking so that he can finally be free from you."

"No!" He forced his head up, hazel orbs locking on white as his jaw trembled, tears threatening to spill. "No…"

"Then where is he? Why hasn't he saved you yet?"

_Because he can't_. If Sam hadn't saved him yet, it was because he couldn't, not because he didn't want to. And yet that didn't make Dean feel any better. The thought drifted through his mind, bittersweet as it reminded him of the true bleakness of his situation. His head fell again, eyes staring at the floor, empty and lost. "You know nothing."

The demon's breath was there again, against his cheek, a bloody hand resting beneath his chin. But Dean didn't look. "I know so much more than you could ever imagine, Dean Winchester - about dear old Dad, Sammy, you… even _Mommy._" He laughed, cold and cruel. "Do you really think there are angels watching over you? After everything you've been through, you really think they _care_ about _you_? Do you even want to be saved?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The room was akin to a warzone or bomb site. The curtains had been pulled from the window then strung back up haphazardly, fabric and fluff were strewn across the floor from the pillows and spare mattress, even the bathroom tiles hadn't managed to evade Sam's search and destroy mission. He was desperate. The object of the connection, whether it be a hex bag or hoodoo charm or something else entirely, it was somewhere and Sam had to find it.

If he was going to wake Dean up… if he was going to save him, he had to find it.

Sitting with his back against the wall, Sam stared at the mess in front of him. He was running out of places to look. As Bobby had suggested, he had already gone over everything he and Dean had done in town. Nothing screamed suspicious. But when dealing with the supernatural, not everything always did.

His hazel eyes turned to face his brother as Dean groaned, his brother's hand reaching up underneath a now flattened pillow to search for an object that wasn't there. It was a movement Sam had seen often. Whether halfway between sleep and waking or fully emerged in twisted nightmares, the grip of the knife that usually sat under Dean's pillow was normally enough to make Dean feel more at ease, more in control. But the knife wasn't there and it wouldn't help Dean where he was.

Sam pushed himself to him feet, feeling weary and exhausted, and moved over to Dean. His hands tightened into fists, his chest aching as he felt himself being submerged in his own uselessness, unable to help his brother.

"What do I do, Dean?" he asked, wishing he had the answers and the means to breaking the connection. "I can't do this on my own…"

If he thought the knife would do anything, if he thought it would give Dean some subconscious strength, he would have put it in his hands. But then, considering the earlier nightmares Dean had been suffering from, Sam doubted the knife would be any help. If anything, it could have made things worse.

Brow furrowing and heart quickening, Sam's eyes dropped to the floor. He gripped the fleeting thought and held on tight, refusing to let it pass unnoticed. Moving quickly, he snatched the car keys from the table and headed to the Impala. The knife was in there, still covered in blood from the demon's first victim. It was a long shot but it was an idea and it was definitely better than tearing apart the rest of the motel room in search of a item that may not have even been there… because it could have been outside the whole time, sitting on the floor in the Impala.

When the knife was in his hands, he returned to the motel room and pulled out his phone. It took Bobby two rings to answer, his voice wavering only slightly as the worry showed through. "How's he holding up?"

"No change." He didn't need to look at Dean to see that everything was the same. He wasn't about to make a miraculous recovery which was why the knife had to be it. It had to be the connection that the demon was using. "Have you found out how to break it?"

There was a moment's silence before Bobby answered, the shock in his voice almost drowning out the hope. Sam didn't blame him. It wouldn't do them any good to be blinded by optimism. "You found the connection?"

"I think so." He placed the knife on the table, his eyes lingering on the tainted blade and dirt smudged handle. "If this isn't it then…" He stopped himself from finishing the sentence in order to stop hopelessness from finishing him. No, the knife was the connection. It had to be.

The sound of ruffling pages echoed down the line and Bobby finally responded. "I haven't found a way to break it," he started and Sam felt his heart plummet, his head spinning, "but we can make it unstable. It could be enough to wake Dean up if… if he can fight the hold the demon has."

"He can," Sam answered, jaw clenching as his gaze fell to Dean. "Tell me what I have to do."

-.-.-

Thanks so much for reading!


	19. Devil on your doorstep

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I wish I could blame being ill for the delay this time but I have no excuse besides being highly distracted. The muse needs a kick up the backside in order to focus. Finally got this chapter finished and am now working on the last chapter. Yep, one more chapter and this one is done - that's actually pretty scary... Thank you guys so much for reading and for the reviews and your incredible patience with me.

I took the Latin prayer from a site on Google so I'm sorry if I got any of it wrong...

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19. Devil on your doorstep

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine." The prayer rang out loudly around the room, the words strong and sure even though Sam felt he wasn't. "Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae." His eyes were closed as the prayer slipped past his lips, his mind concentrating on getting each word just right. "Si inquitates observaveris, Domine. Domine, quis sustinebit?"

He held the knife out in front of him, flat across his upturned palms. A deep breath and he opened his eyes, lowering his arms until the blade was completely submerged in the holy water that sat in a large bowl on the table. Still, the words echoed around the room, the prayer continued. Whether or not God was actually listening, he didn't care – just so long as Dean woke up.

The holy water sizzled and he removed his hands leaving the blade in the bowl. Watching the knife, hazel eyes transfixed, he moved his hand to an open jar and lifted it, offering it upward before dripping the oil inside into the holy water. Once done, he placed the jar back on the table and picked up more holy water instead. The prayer continued and he moved toward the bed where Dean slept.

"Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto." He marked Dean's forehead with the holy water and took another deep breath. "Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et simper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen."

There was nothing. No almighty crack of thunder to say that the prayer had been heard, no fluttering of eyelids to say the ritual had worked, just nothing. Silence reigned and Sam felt his chest tighten. _Give it time,_ the voice in the back of his head whispered and he nodded.

"Anytime you want to wake up, Dean…" he joked but his throat was dry and his voice choked, the smile on his lips forced.

He took a seat on the other bed and rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his hands together so his chin could sit atop his interlocked fingers. "Fight him, Dean," he whispered, his eyes locked on Dean's sleeping form, tears threatening to spill. "Fight him and wake up. You're my big brother… you're stronger than anyone I know – even some coward of a demon. So fight him, Dean. I can't lose you yet… not now, not like this."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alastair, the demonic son of a bitch with white eyes, retreated into the darkness, leaving Dean alone with the venomous words still echoing around his head. The demon spoke of his fears, those deep underlying niggling thoughts that he never voiced out loud and yet, the demon could read them as clearly as if Dean had them spread across a poster board above his head.

His father was always a sore subject for him. Ever since the fire, he had become more drill sergeant than father but Dean had strived to impress him all the same, determined to make him proud. So when he gave up his soul to save Dean, Dean couldn't help but feel like he had failed somehow… that man he always looked up to, the man who was strong and unbreakable… gone. And for what? For Dean's worthless life?

Dean closed his eyes and breathed hard against the pain radiating throughout him. He remembered those months ago, when he had used the colt to kill the yellow eyed demon and his father had followed those demons out through the gate. What he must have suffered, what he must have gone through. And yet he had been standing there, beaming and… proud.

He heard malicious laughter and opened his eyes to see Alastair approaching once again with a new toy in his hand. His heart thudded hard and painful in his chest but he clung onto the image of his father, smiling at him like a dad to a son and not a drill sergeant to a soldier. It dulled the pain that came with the slash across his back as the demon moved in to continue its torture.

He thought he heard it murmur Latin words but his mind was too exhausted to find the meaning behind them, too exhausted to truly listen to anything but the dull buzz inside his head. Even as he clenched his jaw against the pain, he forced his mind to wander away from the demon, struggling to keep the image of his father in his head. The Latin words grew louder and the image faded to be replaced by Sam instead and it was then that Dean thought about the last question the demon had asked him.

_Do you even want to be saved?_ A year ago, a month even… no, probably even less than that, his answer would have been no. He didn't think himself worthy of saving and he certainly didn't see any reason why anyone would want him saved. But then there was Sam's determination and that look of sorrow he tried to hide each time he looked at Dean, as if he had already lost him and in a way he had…

Now the days were going too quickly and the time was getting closer and Alastair, who had gone still behind him as if he suspected Dean's mind was no longer fully there in the torture, had no problem reminding him just how close to Hell he really was. Did he want to be saved? Did he want to wake up to the smell of coffee on a morning? Did he want to be bombarded not stop by Sam's lectures and morals on the drinking of beer and lusting of women? Did he want to live?

He closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath, even as he felt Alastair's cold hand on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. The demon's words felt like acid against his skin as he leaned in close to whisper in Dean's ear but they were drowned out, barely audible above the other voice that Dean heard ringing in his head.

_"So fight him, Dean. I can't lose you yet… not now, not like this."_

It was almost impossible to breathe, his body so weak and burning, refusing to work properly. His eyelids were heavy and mouth so dry that his tongue refused to work. A hand tightened around his wrist, clinging desperately to him and he tried to force his eyes open to stare the demon down, to show he wasn't afraid… to show that he wouldn't be broken.

But when his eyes opened, it wasn't the demon that gripped his wrist, it was Sam with his puppy dog eyes pleading with him. He felt himself relax, tension dying in his body as a small smile crept onto his face. "You can let go now, Sam…" The words were hoarse, barely there at all but Sam heard them. He didn't listen to them but he definitely heard them. Dean could tell by the way his face lit up, eyes bright and grin wide.

Did Dean want to be saved? He drew in a long breath as he answered the thought with a small internal yes. But what he wanted to happen and what would happen were two separate things.

-.-.-

Thanks guys!


	20. Blinding

.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Okay, so I know I just posted the previous chapter a couple of hours ago but I was determined to finish this tonight and saw no need to keep you guys hanging on and waiting for this final chapter any longer than you had to, seeing as you've all been so amazingly patient so far with how long this has taken me. I am extrememly grateful and you guys are amazing for sticking with this story. All I can say is thank you and here it is, the final chapter!

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20. Blinding

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After waking, Dean had dragged himself up to look at the sorry mess that was their motel room. Sam explained what had happened, fetching the first aid kit from one of the bags and searching inside it for aspirin for Dean. His head was throbbing, his entire body protesting every movement that he made. It reminded him of the hangover he had experienced one time in Atlanta, though the intensity was much worse now. He only hoped the painkillers would dull the ache. As for the piercing light that felt like needles being driven into his eyes, his shades would have to do.

"We need to break the connection completely," Sam noted, grabbing his laptop from the table. He was careful not to knock the bowl that held the holy water and knife he had been telling Dean about. Dean figured he was afraid that if he did, it would reverse the effects and Dean would fall back into the nightmare.

"You mean find the girl?" Dean questioned, taking a few painkillers over the recommended dosage and downing them with water whilst wishing it was whiskey. He rubbed at his temple before resting his head against the wall, making sure to keep his eyes open, almost afraid to close them. "And what happens to her when we do?"

He remembered the demon telling him that it needed the girl in order to keep Dean in the nightmare - that it needed her blood to be dripping. It made him wonder if getting her away from the demon was going to be enough and even then, what she had gone through… he cut his thoughts short and forced himself up, pacing the floor in front of him. He was aware of Sam watching and when his brother failed to answer his question about the girl, because really, he had no idea either, he spoke again. "There was a warehouse. At least I think it was a warehouse of some kind… old and empty."

It was his turn to watch Sam as he worked at the laptop, making it all seem so easy, which to Sam, it probably was. He'd had enough experience to know what to look for and where to look for it. It made things easier or at least a little less difficult. After several minutes, Dean returned to his seat on the bed, staring at the back of the laptop as if it could tell him the answers to what Sam was looking for. It couldn't.

Sam still sent glances his way, worried and anxious. It made Dean glad that what the demon had done to him in the nightmare hadn't appeared on his body outside of the dream. What Sam didn't know… he didn't need to know. The cuts, the carvings, the malicious words, Sam didn't need to know about any of it.

"There's an area just outside of town, seems our best bet. It has a few old buildings that could have been used as warehouses," Sam announced finally, closing the laptop up. It wasn't a certainty but it was better than nothing.

Dean pulled himself to his feet, wobbled a little and somehow managed to fight off the wave of nausea and light-headedness that overtook him. Fighting off Sam's grip was a different story. The youngest wasn't convinced they should be heading out so soon, Dean could tell. But he also couldn't risk not heading out. If he fell asleep again and fell back into the nightmare, there was no guarantee than Sam could pull him out again.

"I'm fine," he insisted for the umpteenth time as Sam shot him another sidelong glance in the Impala. It was an outright lie that was proven even more untrue by the fact he had to further shield his eyes from the streetlamps overhead because, even with his shades, the light still hurt like hell. He was glad when they got outside the town and the streetlamps became more sparse, the landscape darker.

By the time Sam pulled up outside the first of the old buildings, Dean knew what his brother was going to suggest. He would protest of course, fight him all the way but he knew he had no strength. He could barely even open the car door and that in itself left him feeling useless.

"You're staying here," Sam said, though it was more of an order than the suggestion Dean had expected. The younger Winchester was already out the car and rounding the back to gather weapons from the trunk.

Dean growled in reply. His door half open, he felt the light breeze from the night air, cool against his skin. It helped refresh him, keep him awake and aware enough to realise that Sam was right. He was staying there. To think or do otherwise would be suicide. He would not only endanger himself but Sam as well.

Sam came up to door and opened it wider, concern still etched deep into his expression. He handed Dean a shotgun and before Dean could say anything at all, he was gone, heading off toward the warehouse to search inside. Dean kept watch on the door the whole time, only moving to watch the second warehouse when Sam had emerged from the first unharmed and had proceeded with his search.

"I don't think he'll like what he'll find." The voice was cold as ice beside him and Dean span in his seat, finding enough strength to raise the shotgun and aim it at the demon's chest. He didn't pull the trigger, instead he snarled at the demon.

"Am I dreaming?" He didn't feel like he was but then with how tired his whole body was feeling, he wouldn't have put it past it to have shut down temporarily without his consent.

"No, not this time." The demon grinned that crooked grin, his eyes flashing white for a moment before returning back to a more acceptable colour. Though even that colour seemed to be tainted, a murkier brown than most people's eyes held, almost empty and dead.

"I swear to God," Dean started, his finger tightening on the trigger, ready to pull, "If you even think of going anywhere near my brother – I won't just kill you."

The words were a promise of torture far worse than what the demon had given him in the nightmare and the look in the demon's eyes said he understood perfectly what Dean was getting at. In fact, it was worse than that. The look said that was what the demon was banking on. It made Dean feel sick.

"Maybe sometime in the future," the demon answered, before casting a distasteful look around the area and down at his meatsuit as if he was tired of it already and eager to be somewhere else. "But for now, I'll be waiting for you. Got a space ready on the rack, waiting for your broken shell of a soul."

Before Dean could answer, his attention was pulled back to the warehouse where he heard Sam call out. He couldn't make out the words at first but when he finally saw his brother emerge, he guessed it had something to do with him finding the girl. He turned to snarl at the demon again, ready to pull the trigger if Sam got the girl back to the car only for her to be dead, but it was gone as if it hadn't even been there in the first place.

"She's alive, barely," Sam said as he got close enough for Dean to hear. By the look in his eyes, Dean was sure he hadn't seen the demon which meant it was yet another thing that Sam didn't have to know about.

Dean nodded, his eyes unfocused as he half watched Sam bundle her into the back of the car and half watched to see if the demon reappeared. Deep in thought, thinking of what the demon had said and of the look it had given him, the silence stretched on well past them taking the girl to the hospital and heading for the nearest exit of town.

Sam had called Bobby and had done something with the girl before the hospital but Dean hadn't paid attention. It had probably involved Latin and holy water but with his head still partly in the nightmare that had been Alastair, Dean couldn't be sure.

"What did he do?" Sam finally asked, several miles after the pretty 'now leaving' sign that had sat at the side of the road.

Dean had removed his shades and was staring blankly at the passing scenery. The headache was disappearing, along with the weariness and overwhelming need to sleep. But the aching was still there, the silent twinge of pain that echoed out through his body. He ignored it and glanced to Sam before looking back out the window. "I don't remember."

Sam remained silent and Dean could feel his eyes still on him. He didn't believe the lie and Dean wished so badly that he would. He wished the lie were true. What he had experienced was only a taste of what he would get in Hell. And he knew, more than anything, that he didn't want to experience it again. "It's all kind of hazy," he added, trying to sound more convincing as he sent Sam a sad smile.

Sam, his kid brother, the one he always looked out for… Dean had sold his soul for his life. If there had been any other way to save him, he would have done that instead, but there hadn't and now Hell awaited him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to go to Hell and he definitely didn't want to face Alastair again. But he couldn't get out of his deal. If he even tried, Sam would die and that… that wasn't on option.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Somehow, knowing what was waiting, knowing those cold white eyes of his torturer… it made it worse and he didn't want Sam to know just how much worse it made it all.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Katie Del Toro lay in the hospital bed, staring unseeing at the blank white ceiling above. She heard someone move close to her bed and shivered, wishing she had the strength to move away but the staff had restrained her. She had been frantic, screaming about demons and blood and pale white eyes that she would never forget. It made her wish the ceiling wasn't white, or the walls or the floor or anything that she would ever see again.

The person by the bed placed their hand on her shoulder and she jerked beneath their touch, turning wild eyes onto a pair of soft blue. A kind smile of the officer that stood there had her calming but only slightly. They spoke to her but she barely comprehended what they were saying, the drugs that the nurses had given her still fogging up her mind.

His hand became a little heavier, his speech a little clearer. "What do you remember?" he asked, still so kind, so soft.

"He was a demon," she whimpered, aware of how crazy it sounded and how insane it made her look. "He was a demon. You… I – please, you have to believe me."

He smiled and leaned in closer. That was when she saw a flash of silver in his other hand and she strained to look down only to see nothing but white curtains drawn closed and white sheets quickly turning red. "Of course I believe you," he whispered in her ear and he stood up tall. She could see his eyes turn clearly white before he turned away, unhooking the pain medication attached to her drip and the alarm that would have allowed her to call for help, leaving her to die alone and in pain.

-.-.-

You guys rock. Thank you. I hope you have enjoyed!


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